She was of about Madge's own age, and the two, in spite of old Lady Ellington's rooted dislike to her nephew, had always been friends. Gladys was charmingly pretty, most successful in all she did, and universally liked. This was only fair, for she took immense trouble to be liked, and never did an ill-natured thing to anyone, unless it was quite certain that she would not be found out. She had come to tea on the afternoon succeeding Madge's return to London, and, though she professed regrets at the absence of Madge's mother, was really delighted to find her friend alone. She had a perfect passion for finding things out, and her method of doing so was to talk with extreme volubility herself, so that no one could possibly conjecture that she had any object of the sort in her mind. But her pauses were well calculated, and her questions few, while with regard to these, she always gave the appearance of not attending to the answers, which further disarmed suspicion. She was, however, a little afraid of Madge's mother, who always gave her the idea of seeing through her. This made her volubility a little threadbare at times, and consequently she bore her absence with more than equanimity. "Darling, I think it is too charming," she was saying, "and I always hoped that you would do just this. Mr. Home is perfectly adorable, I think, and though it sounds horribly worldly to say so, it is an advantage, you know, to marry a very rich man. We're as poor as mice, you see, and so I know. Yes, please--a cup of tea, though we're told now that a cup of tea is the most unwholesome thing in the world. And you had a nice party? Mrs. Home, too, just like a piece of china scented with lavender. And who else was there?" "Only two more men," said Madge, "Mr. Merivale and Mr. Evelyn Dundas." "The Hermit of the New Forest!" cried Gladys, directing her remarks to him because she wished to hear more of the other. "How too exciting! He lives on cherry jam and brown bread, does he not, and whistles to the cows, who lay their heads on his shoulder and purr. I used to know him in the old days before he was a hermit at all. And Mr. Dundas, too! Do you like him?" "Yes, very much, very much indeed," said Madge gravely. "He is such a child, you know, and he makes one laugh because he is so silly. He is going to do my portrait, by the way; mine and Philip's." "How delightful! He ought to make a really wonderful thing of you, dear Madge. Do tell me, how much does he charge? I'm dying to be painted by him, but he is so frightfully expensive, is he not? And you liked him; what a good thing, as you are going to sit to him. It must be awful being painted by a man who irritates you." Madge laughed. "He doesn't irritate me in the slightest," she said. "In fact, I don't think I ever got to know a man so quickly. I don't know how it is; somehow he is like clear water. You can see straight to the bottom."