‘What are _câlineries_, mother?’ said Mab, taking up the card, which was inscribed as follows: ‘_Chère Petite_,--Much regret not to find you. Come to see me to-morrow; I have something important for your welfare to say.’ ‘_Chère Petite_,’ repeated Mab, ‘that is a _câlinerie_, I suppose. It seems queer to call you _Petite_--but I suppose she knew you when you were quite little.’ ‘She knew me, certainly, when the title was more appropriate than it is now.’ ‘That must be the reason; and perhaps she thought you might like it. Some ladies,’ said Mab, with her serious, almost childish, face, ‘like to be thought young.’ ‘I don’t think she can have thought I would like it, Mab,’ said Lady William, with a little shiver. ‘Close the window and draw the curtain, please. I have a sort of uncomfortable feeling of somebody looking in.’ ‘You are uncomfortable altogether to-night, mother.’ ‘Yes, I suppose it’s my nerves; it’s--that woman. I never thought I had any nerves before.’ ‘Oh, but you have,’ cried Mab; ‘I know better than that. Not nerves, perhaps, like Aunt Jane, but---- There is somebody in the garden. Shall I go and see who it is?’ Lady William started up and looked over Mab’s shoulder. Whether she thought it might be Leo come again, or what other intruder at this untimely hour, I cannot tell. But she said, in a tone that was half relief and half annoyance: ‘Your Aunt Jane in person, Mab, and the girls. What can they want now?’ Her tone was a little fretful. They were in the way of wanting a great many things from her at the Rectory, and frequently her advice on one subject or another, which they did not generally take. ‘It will be about their dresses for the FitzStephens’ party,’ said Mab, to whom the ladies outside were beckoning that she should open the door to them. But Lady William shook her head. ‘Run and let them in, at all events. They have not rung the bell,’ she said, drawing the curtains with an impatient movement. The little room looked so full that it could contain no more when the three ladies came in; but they knew all its accommodations, and settled themselves in their places at as great a distance as possible from the little bright fire. ‘It is such a mild night there is no occasion for it,’ said Mrs. Plowden, ‘but you always keep up fires, Emily, later than any one.’ ‘Do I? It’s cheerful at least.’ ‘And the window open! That’s rather wasteful, don’t you think? I like to do either one thing or another; to shut up the house and keep all the heat in, as one does on winter nights, or else to throw up all the windows, and get the full advantage of the air. But I don’t see the good of dispersing all the heat outside, as if it could warm the garden. That would be a very good idea; but I’m afraid it would not be a success if you were to try it ever so much.’ ‘I suppose,’ said Lady William, ‘you have come to tell me something; not to talk about the fire.’