"No; money talks! and this time, on my word, now, it made you want to put on those thick sealskin ear-muffs. Poor chap, and he'd been talkin' to me about the monotony of married life. 'Monotony, my boy,' I said to him, 'you don't _know_ lovely woman!' and now he wishes jolly well that he'd not done it, you know." Here, too, was earned by Mrs. Bines a reputation for wit that she was never able quite to destroy. There had been talk of a banquet to a visiting celebrity the night before, for which the _menu_ was one of unusual costliness. Mr. Milbrey had dwelt with feeling upon certain of its eminent excellences, such as loin of young bear, a la Granville, and the boned quail, stuffed with goose-livers. "Really," he concluded, "from an artistic standpoint, although large dinners are apt to be slurred and slighted, it was a creation of undoubted worth." "And the orchestra," spoke up Mrs. Bines, who had read of the banquet, "played 'Hail to the _Chef!_'" The laughter at this sally was all it should have been, even the host joining in it. Only two of those present knew that the good woman had been warned not to call "chef" "chief," as Silas Higbee did. The fact that neither should "chief" be called "chef" was impressed upon her later, in a way to make her resolve ever again to eschew both of the troublesome words. When the guests had gone Miss Milbrey received the praise of both parents for her blameless attitude toward young Bines. "It will be fixed when we come back from Wheatly," said that knowing young woman, "and now don't worry any more about it." "And, Fred," said the mother, "do keep straight down there. She's a commonplace girl, with lots of mannerisms to unlearn, but she's pretty and sweet and teachable." "And she'll learn a lot from Fred that she doesn't know now," finished that young man's sister from the foot of the stairway. Back at their hotel Psyche Bines was saying: "Isn't it queer about Mrs. Gwilt-Athelstan? We've read so much about her in the papers. I thought she must be some one awful to meet--I was that scared--and instead, she's like any one, and real chummy besides; and, actually, ma, don't you think her dress was dowdy--all except the diamonds? I suppose that comes from living in England so much. And hasn't Mrs. Milbrey twice as grand a manner, and the son--he's a precious--he knows everything and everybody; I shall like him." Her brother, who had flung himself into a cushioned corner, spoke with the air of one who had reluctantly consented to be interviewed and who was anxious to be quoted correctly: