But after this there was a cessation of hostilities, and in the end Miss Hewitt was taken over the house to see all its splendours, which, as much as possible, she depreciated. She was the only witness of her elevation whom Patty had as yet had, and though some sacrifice of pride and spirit was necessary, a natural longing to impress and dazzle her world, through the means of some spectator, was still stronger. Patty went so far as to offer her aunt some of those pairs of silk stockings which Parsons had been counting when her new mistress fell upon her. “They’re such good stockings,” Patty said, “but miles too big for me.” “If you think I’ll wear her old cast-off things!” cried Miss Hewitt, purple with rage, flinging them back into the drawers from which Patty had taken them. “And my foot, if anything, is a little smaller than yours,” she added, with angry satisfaction. But when the visitor lingered and at last betrayed her desire to be asked to stay for “dinner”--a word which came out unadvisedly, and which she immediately corrected, with a blush--“Lunch, I suppose you call it,”--Patty assumed very high ground. “My dear Aunt! if we were by ourselves of course it would not matter; but dear papa always takes his luncheon along with us.” “And who’s dear papa?” asked Miss Hewitt, with natural derision. “I mean Sir Giles, of course; he’s in very delicate health, and we have to be very careful.” “Sir Giles,” said Miss Hewitt grimly, “has seen me before.” “Yes--he said so when he heard my name--he said, Where have I heard that name before?” “Patty, you’re a little devil; he knows a deal more than that of me.” “Ah, well, perhaps once, Aunt; but his memory’s gone now; and to bring in a stranger to the luncheon table! Perhaps you don’t remember,” said Patty severely, “that my poor dear mother-in-law has not yet been a fortnight in her grave.”