Roger rather ruefully consented. Maud would gradually cure her of her nerves and her rusticity. Meantime he would now tackle Sibyl. Sibyl had taken no notice of his card and call; but about three weeks afterwards had written to Maud, picturing herself as having now emerged from a swoon of grief and being ready to see Roger for a _few_ minutes if he would _promise_ to move gently and speak in a level voice, as _the least thing_ upset her. Pressed to be more definite, she consented to see him—and him only—at Engledene on a certain Wednesday afternoon at three o’clock. He found her in a little boudoir, which was draped with pleated lavender-mauve cashmere and shaded to a dim light. She was dressed in black, not having as yet the hardihood to discard widows’ weeds, still less some diaphanous, filmy _coiffe_, some ghost of a widow’s cap. Queen Victoria was still a great power in Society and kept Peeresses in order. If you were too daring you might be banned at Court and then where would your social and political influence be? "Wheel up, or better still _lift_ up—I can’t bear the _slightest_ jar, just now—that small armchair, Roger—the purple velvet one—and put it near enough for me to hear and speak without effort; but not _too_ near, because I notice you have a very powerful aura. I’ve only just learnt about auras, and I realize now _what_ a difference they make!..." "All right," said Roger, obeying these instructions, "but what’s an aura? Is it the smell of my Harris tweeds, or do you doubt my having had a bath this morning?"