The men had now come in to place the tea-table, and it was the movements of the red-haired footman that Mrs. Brookenham followed. “You had better ask my child herself.” The Duchess was frank and jovial. “I would, I promise you, if I could get at her! But isn’t that woman always with her?” Mrs. Brookenham smoothed the little embroidered tea-cloth. “Do you call Tishy Grendon a woman?” Again the Duchess had one of her pauses, which were indeed so frequent in her talks with this intimate that an auditor could sometimes wonder what particular form of relief they represented. They might have been a habit proceeding from the fear of undue impatience. If the Duchess had been as impatient with Mrs. Brookenham as she would possibly have seemed without them her frequent visits in the face of irritation would have had to be accounted for. “What do YOU call her?” she demanded. “Why Nanda’s best friend--if not her only one. That’s the place I SHOULD have liked for Aggie,” Mrs. Brookenham ever so graciously smiled. The Duchess hereupon, going beyond her, gave way to free mirth. “My dear thing, you’re delightful. Aggie OR Tishy is a sweet thought. Since you’re so good as to ask why Aggie has fallen off you’ll excuse my telling you that you’ve just named the reason. You’ve known ever since we came to England what I feel about the proper persons--and the most improper--for her to meet. The Tishy Grendons are not a bit the proper.” Mrs. Brookenham continued to assist a little in the preparations for tea. “Why not say at once, Jane”--and her tone, in its appeal, was almost infantine--“that you’ve come at last to placing even poor Nanda, for Aggie’s wonderful purpose, in the same impossible class?”