Mrs. Raynor looked over her spectacles, and met her daughter’s glance with eyes as dark and loving as her own. She was a much smaller woman than Janet, both in figure and feature, the chief resemblance lying in the eyes and the clear brunette complexion. The mother’s hair had long been grey, and was gathered under the neatest of caps, made by her own clever fingers, as all Janet’s caps and bonnets were too. They were well-practised fingers, for Mrs. Raynor had supported herself in her widowhood by keeping a millinery establishment, and in this way had earned money enough to give her daughter what was then thought a first-rate education, as well as to save a sum which, eked out by her son-in-law, sufficed to support her in her solitary old age. Always the same clean, neat old lady, dressed in black silk, was Mrs. Raynor: a patient, brave woman, who bowed with resignation under the burden of remembered sorrow, and bore with meek fortitude the new load that the new days brought with them. ‘Your bonnet wants pulling a trifle forwarder, my child,’ she said, smiling, and taking off her spectacles, while Janet at once knelt down before her, and waited to be ‘set to rights’, as she would have done when she was a child. ‘You’re going straight to Mrs. Crewe’s, I suppose? Are those flowers to garnish the dishes?’ ‘No, indeed, mother. This is a nosegay for the middle of the table. I’ve sent up the dinner-service and the ham we had cooked at our house yesterday, and Betty is coming directly with the garnish and the plate. We shall get our good Mrs. Crewe through her troubles famously. Dear tiny woman! You should have seen her lift up her hands yesterday, and pray heaven to take her before ever she should have another collation to get ready for the Bishop. She said, “It’s bad enough to have the Archdeacon, though he doesn’t want half so many jelly-glasses. I wouldn’t mind, Janet, if it was to feed all the old hungry cripples in Milby; but so much trouble and expense for people who eat too much every day of their lives!” We had such a cleaning and furbishing-up of the sitting-room yesterday! Nothing will ever do away with the smell of Mr. Crewe’s pipes, you know; but we have thrown it into the background, with yellow soap and dry lavender. And now I must run away. You will come to church, mother?’ ‘Yes, my dear, I wouldn’t lose such a pretty sight. It does my old eyes good to see so many fresh young faces. Is your husband going?’