There is, after all, something to be said for a social code which enables people to carry off difficult situations with an air of complete insouciance! Julia Cavendish stepped down from the dilapidated conveyance; shook hands; admitted that she would like to get tidy; and followed her hostess's lithe figure down a whitewashed passage, up one flight of rather crazy staircase, into a low-ceiled bedroom, obviously scrubbed out that day. The room was very plainly furnished, yet it had about it the particular atmosphere which indicates, as between one woman and another: "We expected you. We made preparations for you." "I'm afraid it isn't up to much," said Aliette shyly. "But we've put a writing-table under the window--just in case." Julia Cavendish looked at the table, at the pens and the ink-pot and the jar of flowers on the table; Julia Cavendish looked at the little shy woman, so gorgeous in her mating beauty, so socially correct in her shyness; and the "Mrs. Brunton, this is a very serious position" with which--ten hours since--she had firmly made up her mind to open their conversation, vanished into the limbo of unuttered sentences. "I'm afraid," said Julia Cavendish, "that this visit is rather--an intrusion." "It is I who am the intruder," answered Aliette simply; and then, seeing that Julia, who had seated herself on the side of the bed, was fumbling at the unaccustomed task of removing her own hat: "Can't I help?" "Thank you, my dear," said Julia. Caroline Staley, bringing hot water, knocked; deposited her copper jug by the washhand-stand; and departed with the unspoken thought, "Better leave they two alone for a while." And, for a while, "they two" scrutinized one another in silence--the elder woman still seated; the younger, diffident, very uncertain of what next to say, upright beside her. At last the younger woman said, "You must be tired after your journey. You'd like to change into a tea-gown, wouldn't you? Caroline is quite a good maid. I'll send her and your box up." She made a movement to go, but the elder woman restrained her. "I think I'd rather talk first. We've got a good many things to talk about, haven't we? Won't you sit down?" Julia patted the clean counterpane in further invitation. "You're very kind, Mrs. Cavendish." Aliette, still standing, shook her head ever so slightly, as one refusing a gift. "Too kind. And I'm glad you've forgiven Ronnie. But you needn't, really you needn't forgive me. You came to see your son, not your son's"--she hesitated--"lady-love. I'm quite willing to--to efface myself as long as you're here." She smiled proudly. "Though, as it's rather a tiny cottage, you mustn't mind seeing me occasionally." Her favorite word "Rubbish!" rose to Julia's lips; but was instantly repressed. Proud herself, she could both respect and sympathize with the pride in the other. "I'm wondering," she said after a pause, "just how much my son's lady-love loves my son."