“For goodness sake don’t bother me to death when you know the Witheringhams are coming,” Mrs. Parke said. And she went into her room, leaving her friend standing outside. Letitia did not close the door, but left it possible for Mary to follow her, if the communication was so very urgent. But this Miss Hill did not do. She hesitated a moment, wrung her hands, and then disappeared like a ghost within the narrow portals of the nursery passage. Had Letitia only known the words that were on her lips, had Mary been less frightened, less terrified at the sound of her own voice. But it could not have made much difference after all--the shock would have been perhaps less great--but to do away with it altogether was not in any one’s power. Letitia dressed in great haste. She had only time to swallow the cup of tea which she had ordered--to put on her new velvet with the point lace and diamonds--a _rivière_, but nothing much to speak of, which Frogmore had sent her on the birth of the heir--and to pull on one of her gloves, when a sound of carriage wheels in the avenue made her hurry downstairs to be in her place before the Witheringhams arrived. The Witheringhams had never dined at Greenpark before. They were very fine people indeed, the oldest family in the county, though he was only a baron, so rich that they did not know what to do with their money. They lived a great deal abroad, and it so happened that Letitia had never before been able to offer her hospitality to these distinguished persons who were so little in need of a dinner. For the first time it had “suited” to-night, and to have been a moment late, or to have anything out of order, would have been a sin which Letitia, such a model of social propriety as she was, would not have forgiven herself. Happily, she was not only in the drawing-room herself, but two or three of the _élite_ of her guests had come down in good time and stood about like black statues in that irreproachable _tenue_ which specially distinguishes Englishmen. It was a moment indescribable when Letitia placed Lady Witheringham in the easiest chair, and sitting down near her, with the warmest cordiality mingled with respect, made the discovery that this great lady’s diamonds were really after all not as good as her own. She did not betray the consciousness, but it gave her a secret exhilaration. She felt that she approached her guests upon nearer terms. “It is a pleasure we have wished for so long, dear Lady Witheringham,” she said, “to see you in our own house.” “We are a great deal away,” said the old lady. “Witheringham can’t stand the winter in England--and to tell the truth when we are at home we are not fond of new people, neither he nor I.” “I hope,” said Letitia, “that we can scarcely be considered new people now. After nearly seven years--”