Here the point was marked between the time when the girls had never known Mr. Dudgeon and the time when they did. Mabel never forgot that fine, spare figure, standing in a glitter of gilt panelled walls, of warm light from a fire and glimmering electric brackets, of pale colour from the rugs on the floor. He had the grey ascetic face of the scholarly man brought up in refinement, and his expression contained a great amount of placidity. He had dark, scrutinizing eyes, and a kind mouth, where lines of laughter came and went. Jean approached tremblingly, for now it suddenly dawned on her that she had never been informed why the husband of Lady Emily should only be plain "Mr. Dudgeon." Was this right, or had she not listened properly? Then Adelaide Maud said distinctly, "Mr. Dudgeon." Jean concluded that it was their puzzle, not hers, and shook hands with him radiantly. Mabel only thought that at last she had met one more man who might be compared to her father. They sat down on couches of curved legs and high backs, "the kind of couches that make one manage to look as magnificent as possible," as Jean described it. Mr. Dudgeon said Lady Emily was being indulged with a few moments’ grace. "It’s the one thing we have always to do for Lady Emily," said he, "to give her a few minutes’ grace." He began to talk to them in a quick, grave manner. Jean again informed herself, "It is a dream." One would have thought that Mr. Dudgeon was really interested in them both. And how could he be--he--the husband of the daughter of a duke! He asked all about how long they had known Adelaide Maud and so on. Mabel was not dreaming, however. She sat daintily on the high-backed couch and told Mr. Dudgeon about the Story Books. There they were, only ten minutes in the room, and Mr. Dudgeon, who had never seen Mabel or Jean before, was hearing all about the Story Books. And Adelaide Maud, who had begun to imagine she knew the Leightons, heard this great fable for the first time in her life. "Uncle," she said, "uncle, isn’t this sweet, isn’t this fame?" "It is," said he. "Do you wonder that I don’t go to the ball?" she asked. "And you’ve done this ever since you were children?" she asked. "Made fairies of us! And I’m ’Adelaide Maud,’ am I? Who once called me Adelaide?" She looked puzzled. "Dear me, if only we had known. And not even Miss Grace to tell me!" "Oh, we bound them over," said Mabel, "and no one else ever heard of it." "She doesn’t tell you all," said wicked Jean. "She doesn’t tell you that we sat behind you once at a concert, and Mabel saw, properly you know, how your blue dress was made." "Oh, Jean, Jean," said Mabel. "Yes, and had hers made just like it," said Jean. She spread her hands a little. "Rucked down the front, you remember." "Oh, I remember," laughed Adelaide Maud. "And when you came to call--Mabel couldn’t put on her prettiest gown, because it was just like yours." "Oh, Jean," cried Mabel.