Had she been a man, one would have said at once that here was a nouveau riche, ever heedful of the fact that the big room and all the appurtenances thereof were the fruits of toil and perseverance. There was a distinct suggestion of self-manufacture about Mrs. Harrington--distinct, that is to say, to the more subtle-minded. For she was not vulgar, neither did she boast. But the expression of her keen and somewhat worldly countenance betokened the intention of holding her own. The Honourable Mrs. Harrington was not only beautifully dressed, but knew how to wear her clothes en grande dame. "Yes," she was saying, "Luke has failed to pass off the Britannia. It is a rare occurrence. I suppose the boy is a fool." Mrs. Harrington was rather addicted to the practice of calling other people names. If the butler made a mistake she dubbed him an idiot at once. She did not actually call her present companion, Mrs. Ingham-Baker, a fool, possibly because she considered the fact too apparent to require note. Mrs. Ingham-Baker, stout and cringing, smoothed out the piece of silken needlework with which she moved through life, and glanced at her companion. She wanted to say the right thing. And Mrs. Harrington was what the French call "difficult." One could never tell what the right thing might be. The art of saying it is, moreover, like an ear for music, it is not to be acquired. And Mrs. Ingham-Baker had not been gifted thus. "And yet," she said, "their father was a clever man--as I have been told." "By whom?" inquired Mrs. Harrington blandly. Mrs. Ingham-Baker paused in distress. "I wonder who it was," she pretended to reflect. "So do I," snapped Mrs. Harrington. Mrs. Ingham-Baker's imagination was a somewhat ponderous affair, and, when she trusted to it, it usually ran her violently down a steep place. She concluded to say nothing more about the late Admiral FitzHenry. "The boy," said Mrs. Harrington, returning to the hapless Luke, "has had every advantage. I suppose he will try to explain matters when he comes. I could explain it in one word--stupidity." "Perhaps," put in Mrs. Ingham-Baker nervously, "the brains have all gone to the other brother, Henry. It is sometimes so with twins." Mrs. Harrington laughed rather derisively. "Stupid woman to have twins," she muttered. This was apparently one of several grievances against the late Mrs. FitzHenry. "They have a little money of their own, have they not?" inquired Mrs. Ingham-Baker, with the soft blandness of one for whom money has absolutely no attraction. "About enough to pay their washerwoman." There was a pause, and then Mrs. Ingham-Baker heaved a little sigh. "I am sure, dear," she said, "that in some way you will be rewarded for your great kindness to these poor orphan boys."