“Almost beautiful,” I hazarded. It is dangerous to be enthusiastic about another woman, even to the nicest of her sex. “That shows your good taste. Some people cannot see it.” “It is the sort of beauty which is very rare, and not exactly showy.” “She is to my mind wonderful. It does one good to look at her. I expect you are wondering who the little boy is. It is a sad story. I had a great school friend whose father was enormously rich. About a year after her marriage he failed, and her husband’s fortune went in the same crash. Her husband shot himself, and she died six months later, leaving her little boy in my care. Oh!” she added quickly, evidently afraid that my inward comment might be a disparagement on her dead friend, “she did so at my express desire. We loved one another so, that it was the most natural thing she could do.” “He seems a dear little chap.” “He is a darling, and devoted to Hammerton already. Lord Gascoyne is so good about it, and lets me have him here always. Miss Lane is his governess.” Sir Cheveley Drummond, looking a little conscious, came in at this moment. “How energetic everybody is this morning,” said Lady Gascoyne. Mr. Puttock, who appeared on the scene almost as she spoke, looked anything but energetic. He looked as effete as only a decadent young American can look. Lady Enid, who followed, managed to convey with great art the impression that she had just left her room. Lady Briardale did not appear, but Lady Branksome, unable to trust Lady Enid, arrived in good time, although she confided to me later that she thought breakfasting in public a barbarous practice. After breakfast, the whole party, with the exception of Sir Cheveley Drummond, went to church. Poor Sir Cheveley hardly saw the point of going when he knew perfectly well that he would not be permitted to share Lady Enid’s hymn-book. I distinctly heard Lady Briardale say, as we were all waiting in the hall: “I should have thought, my dear, that he would have preferred a synagogue.” At church a thrill passed through me when I found that I was seated next to Esther Lane. It was an infinite pleasure to me to be sitting beside her through the long and stupid sermon. The yellow winter sunlight fell across the recumbent effigies of dead and gone Gascoynes, and made the painted window to the east a blaze of colour.