If Lady Sillinger had not come forward at this moment to relieve the strain of the situation by boundless praise and admiration of the necklace, Frogmore did not know to what extremities he might have been driven. He withdrew as soon as he could without any demonstrations of tenderness--and hurrying through the suite of rooms came, to his confusion, upon Lady Frogmore, his stepmother, John’s mother, a woman a little younger than himself, and of whom he had always been a little afraid. She was very large, as so many ladies become in their maturity, and had a way of constantly fanning herself, which was disturbing to most men and to her stepson most of all. But as they had naturally perceived each other some way off there was no avoiding an encounter. The dowager Lady Frogmore had a voice not unlike a policeman’s rattle, and as she spoke her large bosom heaved as if with the effort to bring it forth. “Well, Frogmore,” she said, “you have been paying your respects to the bride?” “I have indeed,” he replied, with much gravity, and a nervous glance behind him. “You look, my dear Frogmore, as if you were running away.” “Something like it, I don’t deny. I--I thought she would have kissed me,” he said, with a burst of feeling. It might have seemed comical to some people, but it was not at all comical to Lord Frogmore. The dowager Lady Frogmore stopped fanning herself. “She kissed me,” she said, in sepulchral tones; “actually got up upon her toes, and, before I knew what she was about, kissed me. I never was so taken by surprise in my life. If there is any kissing to be done it is the family, certainly, that should begin.” “That is quite my opinion,” said Frogmore; “but I suppose she means it for the best.” Lady Frogmore shook her head. She shook it so long and so persistently that the flowers upon her bonnet began to shed little bits of feather and tinsel. “Frogmore,” she said, solemnly, “mark my words. She will lead John a life!” “Let’s hope not,” said his brother. “Oh! don’t tell me. Men never understand. She will lead him a life.” “At all events it is his own doing,” said Frogmore. “I don’t believe it is his own doing. He could not give me a rational account of it when I asked him. I believe she’s a scheming minx, and this Lady Sillinger’s a designing woman.” “What good will it do her? She’s got daughters of her own.” “That is just the danger of it,” said Lady Frogmore, nodding her head. “If it had been one of her own daughters I would not have said a word. Her own daughters are well enough, but this girl! My poor dear John has been made a victim, Frogmore. He has been made a victim. I wish he had broken his leg or something before he came to this house.” “Nonsense,” said Lord Frogmore, “he might have met her anywhere else as well as in this house.”