Mrs. Bray was almost the last of the friends of the mother of Florence and Lucy. What was more, she had been that lady’s ideal. The sisters had heard their mother praise her with a warmth in which she had seldom clothed her commendations. They had seen their mother sitting beside Mrs. Bray actually holding her hand! As they advanced to greet their old friend, Lucy remembered the astonishment with which that sight had filled her girlish breast—astonishment, not at Mrs. Bray’s power to charm, but at her mother’s self-surrender to it. For this was a wonderful old lady. One felt at once that one was in presence of a personality. She rose very slightly to greet them, for she was both aged and feeble. Yet there was something in gesture and countenance which gave assurance of warmest welcome. “My dear Florence, sit down there where I can look at you, and peep into the world of modern fashion. And my little Lucy, my little truant Lucy, come and sit on this low chair at my side—the very chair your mother always used, my child.” Immediately the one guest was flattered and the other was gratified, and each was put upon the best footing possible with each nature. “Ah, but there is a third visitor!” cried the old lady, beaming down on Hugh. “Oh, my dear Lucy, this child is so like both your father and your husband! Look, your father’s strong chin to the very life, and your husband’s kind, laughing eyes! Yes, Lucy, and it is you that have thus moulded two good men into one. Now where is this young man to sit? I know he wants to sit close beside mamma, and he shall have this little stool; and there he is, a knight at the feet of his queen. And now, Florence, how are Mr. Brand and the daughters?” “Jem is quite well, thanks,” said Florence. “He sends his dutiful regards and best wishes for the New Year. He would have come himself but he is so busy.” As a matter of fact, Jem had not heard or uttered the old lady’s name for months, did not know that his wife was visiting her, and had himself gone that afternoon to Wimbledon for a game of golf. Mrs. Bray laughed gaily. “I expected you both this afternoon,” she said. “I remembered your promise to bring Lucy before the year was out. So I put aside a bit of china for Mr. Brand to take away with him. Oh, a trifle, my dear, very awkward in shape and very heavy! I’ll not think of troubling you with it, but it’s the kind I know he likes, and it can wait till he comes for it. But I tell you, Florence, I must give myself the pleasure of showing you the dress Mr. Bray has given me for the great dinner-party to-morrow, when we dine with the Lord Chief Justice. I’m sure you like to see pretty frocks—you have such pretty ones yourself.” She rang the bell while she spoke, and the genteel, tired maid came in. “Rachel, bring down my dinner-dress again. I’m afraid you’ve just got it put away? But I must have it down again, please!” and the maid went off.