But at last the meeting began to melt away, and Gundred was left alone in the large deserted room. Up and down among the little gilded chairs she roamed, pondering with complacency the success of the entertainment. In the course of her wanderings, she came into view of the great mirror that filled the space between two of the windows. She stood for a while in front of it, contemplating the perfections that it reflected. From the crown of her head to the glistering point of her shoe, she, ‘the Lady Gundred Darnley,’ the fastidious critic, had not the smallest fault to find. Her gown was an inspiration, and its fit an earthly manifestation of the ideal. ‘Really,’ said Gundred to herself, ‘God has been very good to me indeed. I declare I do not look a day over twenty-five. No one would ever believe that I am forty. That is what comes of having a good conscience, and being a little careful what one eats. And it is not many women of five-and-twenty that could dare to wear a colour like this. My figure is positively girlish, and my complexion--well, one does not often see a better one, even among quite young girls.’ But at this point her meditations were interrupted by the sound of a ringing at the bell. She concluded that it must be some belated mother, who would be politely turned away by the butler. So she gave no further attention to the sound, but still stood admiring what the mirror revealed, with both hands caressing the beautiful lines of her waist. In this pleasant employment, however, she was startled by a discreet cough behind her. She wheeled hastily round. A small elderly gentleman was approaching, ushered by the butler. Gundred summoned her presence of mind to confront this unexpected apparition. The butler, meanwhile, was murmuring an unintelligible name. The visitor peered inquiringly up at her. For he was a very minute personage, smaller even than his hostess; he had an air of patient antiquity, and his thin neck poked forward till he had the look of a very shrunken, very wise, very benevolent little old tortoise. He was dressed, too, in the quaintest clothes, that somehow suggested that they had been bought ready-made, and were mysteriously, strangely inappropriate, seeming as if their present wearer were accustomed to quite different garb, and only wore these clumsy reach-me-downs in deference to European convention. He conveyed an impression of feeling fettered and uncomfortable in them, of longing for freer and more flowing vestments. Gundred assumed a smile of gracious interrogation. ‘Mr. ----?’ ‘You are Mr. Darnley’s wife?’ inquired the new-comer. ‘I am Lady Gundred Darnley, yes. What can I----?’ ‘I am your husband’s uncle,’ replied the stranger. ‘I have been in Japan for many years.’ Gundred instantly flashed into recognition, and warmed into a less defensive smile. She tried vehemently to remember all she had heard of this semi-mythical uncle thus abruptly brought back into the land of the living.