"There, I said so! That's Lady Clara pouring tea. I say, but she's a beauty! Isn't she? No, no. Go to the front, driver. American ladies don't call at the side." "There's a hautomobile there, ma'm." "Then wait a moment. Don't be a stupid." Thus, aided by the innkeeper's clever daughter, Cassandra at last made her entrance properly and was guided to the presence of David's mother, who had not joined her guests, having but just closed an interview with Mr. Stretton. As she saw Cassandra standing in the drawing-room waiting her, Lady Thryng came graciously forward. The lovely August weather had tempted every one out of doors, and the great room was left empty save for these two, David's mother and his wife. The beauty of other-worldliness which had infused Cassandra's whole being as she fought her silent battle during the long drive, still enveloped her. If she could have followed her impulses, she would have held out both hands and cried: "Take me and love me. I am David's wife." But she would not--she must not. Her heritage of faith in goodness--both of God and man--kept her heart open, and gave her power to think and act rightly in this her hour of terrible trial; even as a little child, being behind the veil which separates the soul from God, may, in its innocent prattle, utter words of superhuman wisdom. "I am sorry if I have interrupted you when you have company," she said slowly. "I am a stranger--an American." "Ah, you Americans are a happy lot and may go where you please. Take this seat by the window; it is very warm. My son has been in America, but he tells us so little, we are none the wiser for that, about your part of the world." "I knew him in America. That is why I called." "Yes?" The mother bent forward and regarded her curiously, attentively. "He lived very near us. He did a great deal of good--among the poor." She put her hand to her slender white throat, then dropped it again in her lap. Then, looking in Lady Thryng's eyes, she said: "I have seen your picture. I should have known you from that, but you are more beautiful." "Oh! That can hardly be, my dear! It was taken many years ago, you know." "Yes, he said so--his lordship--only there we called him Doctah Thryng." A shadow flitted over the mother's face. "He was a practitioner over there--never in England." "That is a pity; it is such noble work. But perhaps he has other things to do here." "He has--even more noble work than the practice of medicine." "What does he do here?" asked Cassandra, in a low voice. "He must take part in the affairs of government. Very ordinary men may study and practise medicine, but unless men who are wise, and are nobly born and bred, make it their business to care for the affairs of their country, the nation would soon be wrecked. That is what saves England and makes her great."