Mrs. Porter placed herself with her back to the window, but Cuthbert’s keen eyes were able to note every change in her countenance as she listened to the conversation going on round her, or on rare occasions took part in it. He observed that she was curiously silent, and he was of opinion that Theodore’s presence was in some manner painful to her. She addressed him now and then, but with an effort which was evident to those studious eyes of Cuthbert Ramsay’s, though it might escape any less keen observer. The conversation was of politics and of the outer world for the first ten minutes, and was obviously uninteresting to Mrs. Kempster, who fidgeted with her teaspoon, made several attempts to speak, and had to wait her opportunity, but finally succeeded in engaging Theodore’s attention. “Have you seen Lady Carmichael lately, Mr. Dalbrook?” she inquired. “I saw her three days ago.” “And how did you find her? In better spirits I hope? She hardly ever comes to Cheriton now, and her old friends know very little about her. I am told she has a horror of the place, though she was once so fond of it. Poor thing, it is only natural! You found an improvement in her, I hope?” “Yes, I saw at least the beginning of improvement,” answered Theodore. “Her child gives a new interest to her life.” “What a blessing that is! And by-and-by she will meet some one else, who will interest her even more than her baby, and she will marry again. She is too young to go on grieving for ever. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Porter?” “Yes, I suppose she will forget sooner or later. Most women have a faculty for forgetting.” “Most women, but not all women,” said Cuthbert, with his earnest air, which made the commonest words mean more from him than from other men. “I do not think you would be the kind of woman to forget very quickly, Mrs. Porter.” She was in no hurry to notice this remark, but went on pouring out tea quietly for a minute or two before she replied. “There is not much room in my life for forgetfulness,” she said, after that protracted pause. “So without being in any way an exceptional person, I may lay claim to a good memory.” “She remembers her daughter, and yet memory does not soften her heart,” thought Theodore. “With her, memory means implacability.” He looked round the room, in the flickering light of the sunshine that crept in between the bars of the Venetian shutters. He had not expected ever to be sitting at his ease in Mrs. Porter’s parlour after that unpromising conversation upon the first day of the year. He looked round the room, thoughtfully contemplative of every detail in its arrangement which served to tell him what manner of woman Mrs. Porter was. He was not a close student of character like Ramsay; he had made for himself no scientific code of human expression in eye and lip and head and hand; but it seemed to him always that the room in which a man or a woman lived gave a useful indication of that man’s or that woman’s mental qualities.