As she grew older, the profile in the photographs had become more and more _perdu_; the last one showed chiefly the back of her head, besides a basket of flowers, and a double staircase, leading (one hoped) at least to one of the upper rooms in Buckingham Palace. Lady Cannon had a very exalted opinion of her own charms, virtues, brilliant gifts, and, above all, of her sound sense. Fortunately for her, she had married a man of extraordinary amiability, who had always taken every possible precaution to prevent her discovering that in this opinion she was practically alone in the world. Having become engaged to her through a slight misunderstanding in a country house, Sir Charles had not had the courage to explain away the mistake. He decided to make the best of it, and did so the more easily as it was one of those so-called suitable matches that the friends and acquaintances of both parties approve of and desire far more than the parties concerned. A sensible woman was surely required at Redlands and in the London house, especially as Sir Charles had been left guardian and trustee to a pretty little heiress. It had taken him a very short time to find out that the reputation for sound sense was, like most traditions, founded on a myth, and that if his wife's vanity was only equalled by her egotism, her most remarkable characteristic was her excessive silliness. But she loved him, and he kept his discovery to himself. 'Twenty-five minutes to eight!' she exclaimed, holding out a little jewelled watch, as Sir Charles came in after his visit to Hyacinth. 'And we have a new cook, and I specially, _most_ specially told her to have dinner ready punctually at half-past seven! This world is indeed a place of trial!' Sir Charles's natural air of command seemed to disappear in the presence of Lady Cannon. He murmured a graceful apology, saying he would not dress. Nothing annoyed, even shocked her more than to see her husband dining opposite her in a frock-coat. However, of two evils she chose the less. They went in to dinner. 'I haven't had the opportunity yet of telling you my opinion of the play this afternoon,' she said. 'I found it interesting, and I wonder I hadn't seen it before.' 'You sent back our stalls for the first night,' remarked Sir Charles. 'Certainly I did. I dislike seeing a play until I have seen in the papers whether it is a success or not.' 'Those newspaper fellows aren't always right,' said Sir Charles. 'Perhaps not, but at least they can tell you whether the thing is a success. I should be very sorry to be seen at a failure. Very sorry indeed.' She paused, and then went on-- '_James Wade's Trouble_ has been performed three hundred times, so it must be clever. In my opinion, it must have done an immense amount of harm--good, I mean. A play like that, so full of noble sentiments and high principles, is--to me--as good as a sermon!' 'Oh, is it? I'm sorry I couldn't go,' said Sir Charles, feeling very glad.