She delivered the behest in her sharp imperative key, the tone of the born commander. But for once Garnett ventured to question her orders. "And supposing he won't come?" "He must if he cares for his daughter's happiness. She can't be married without him." "Can't be married?" "The French are like that--especially the old families. I was given to understand at once that my husband must appear--if only to establish the fact that we're not divorced." "Ah--you're _not_, then?" escaped from Garnett. "Mercy, no! Divorce is stupid. They don't like it in Europe. And in this case it would have been the end of Hermy's marriage. They wouldn't think of letting their son marry the child of divorced parents." "How fortunate, then--" "Yes; but I always think of such things beforehand. And of course I've told them that my husband will be present." "You think he will consent?" "No; not at first; but you must make him. You must tell him how sweet Hermione is--and you must see Louis, and be able to describe their happiness. You must dine here to-night--he is coming. We're all dining with the Hubbards, and they expect you. They have given Hermy some very good diamonds--though I should have preferred a cheque, as she'll be horribly poor. But I think Kate Hubbard means to do something about the trousseau--Hermy is at Paquin's with her now. You've no idea how delightful all our friends have been.--Ah, here is one of them now," she broke off smiling, as the door opened to admit, without preliminary announcement, a gentleman so glossy and ancient, with such a fixed unnatural freshness of smile and eye, that he gave Garnett the effect of having been embalmed and then enamelled. It needed not the exotic-looking ribbon in the visitor's button-hole, nor Mrs. Newell's introduction of him as her friend Baron Schenkelderff, to assure Garnett of his connection with a race as ancient as his appearance.