Miss Dobell came into the drawing-room with a little fluttered run. Her faded blue eyes were moist, but not so moist as to prevent her perceiving that Mary wore a black dress which did not become her, and that Elizabeth had on an old grey coat and skirt, with dark furs, and a close felt hat which almost hid her hair. She greeted Mary very affectionately and Elizabeth a shade less affectionately. “I hope you are well, Mary, my dear? Yes? That is good. These sad times are very trying. And you, Elizabeth? I am pleased to find that you are able to be out. I feared you were indisposed. Every one was saying, ‘Miss Chantrey must be indisposed, as she was not at the funeral.’ And I feared it was the case.” “No, thank you, I am quite well,” said Elizabeth. Miss Dobell seated herself, smoothing down her skirt. It was of a very bright blue, and she wore with it a little fawn-coloured jacket adorned with a black and white braid, which was arranged upon it in loops and spirals. She had on also a blue tie, fastened in a bow at her throat, and an extremely oddly-shaped hat, from one side of which depended a somewhat battered bunch of purple grapes. Beneath this rather bacchanalian headgear her old, mild, straw-coloured face had all the effect of an anachronism. “I am so glad to find you both. I am so glad to have the opportunity of explaining how it was that I did not attend the funeral. It was a great disappointment. Everything so impressive, by all accounts. Yes. But I could not have attended without proper mourning. No. Oh, no, it would have been impossible. Even though I was aware that poor dear Mr. Mottisfont entertained very singular ideas upon the subject of mourning, I know how much they grieved poor dear Agatha. They were very singular. I suppose, my dear Elizabeth, that it is in deference to poor Mr. Mottisfont’s wishes that you do not wear black. I said to every one at once—oh, at _once_—‘depend upon it poor Mr. Mottisfont must have expressed a _wish_. Otherwise Miss Chantrey would certainly wear mourning—oh, certainly. After living so long in the house, and being like a daughter to him, it would be only proper, only right and proper.’ That is what I said, and I am sure I was right. It was his wish, was it not?” “He did not like to see people in black,” said Elizabeth. “No,” said Miss Dobell in a flustered little voice. “Very strange, is it not? But then so many of poor Mr. Mottisfont’s ideas were very strange. I cannot help remembering how they used to grieve poor dear Agatha. And his views—so sad—so very sad. But there, we must not speak of them now that he is dead. No. Doubtless he knows better now. Oh, yes, we must hope so. I do not know what made me speak of it. I should not have done so. No, not now that he is dead! It was not right, or charitable. But I really only intended to explain how it came about that I was not at the funeral. It was a great deprivation—a very great deprivation, but I was there in spirit—oh, yes, in spirit.”