‘He is certainly a great invalid. But there is a Miss Blisset.’ ‘Is he a widower?’ asked Mrs. Mallory, struck by something in her son’s tone, dimly conscious of some impending unpleasantness in store for herself. ‘She is his niece. She came to live with him some two years or eighteen months ago. I was delighted to renew my acquaintance with her.’ ‘Then you had met her before?’ ‘Yes, at Coblentz, and at Wetzlar, on the Lahn.’ Sebastian was at the present moment leaning on the top of his mother’s chair, which was a deep, roomy easy-chair of a bygone day. As he spoke he took the feathery screen out of her hand and fanned her with it a little. She wished he would not do so. It might not make it more really difficult to resist him, but it made her look very ungracious; it must look ungracious in a mother to deny favours to a son who asked them in so seductive a manner. Mrs. Mallory thought there were certain points upon which she would never give in; but even while she thought it, and Sebastian’s hand waved the screen to and fro, and his voice gently continued to speak--even then, she had an indefinable sensation of being managed--that power was slipping from her hands into his. But she could say nothing until he had in some way committed himself; and he had a most provoking habit of not committing himself. ‘She is as clever and accomplished in her way as her uncle is in his,’ Sebastian went on: ‘and she is, in addition, a most charming young lady. She has no friends here--and she is so different from the Thanshope people--much more in your style than that vehement little Miss Spenceley,’ he added, while Hugo looked on from afar and laughed in his sleeve. ‘I am sure you would like her if you knew her, and I want you to be so kind as to call upon her.’ ‘Call upon her! Call upon a person I know nothing about! Really, Sebastian, I wonder at you!’ ‘My dear mother, she is not in the least what you would describe as a “person.” Even your critical taste will pronounce her a thorough lady when you see her.’ ‘How is it nobody else has called upon her?’ ‘Some one else has. Mrs. Ponsonby has called upon her. But I want you to call upon her. You really would oblige me exceedingly, mother, if you would.’ ‘And therefore I must, I suppose. That appears to be the rule by which the young judge the old in the present day,’ said Mrs. Mallory, a little acidly. Sebastian had come round to the other side, and was leaning against the mantelpiece, and as Mrs. Mallory concluded her remark she looked at her son, and her son looked at her. If he had only been talking about Helena Spenceley! But it was merely some Miss Blisset. She thought she would refuse. But at that moment the idea struck her that she might even serve her own aims by consenting conditionally.