‘You must remember,’ answered young Restormel, ‘that the place was sold when I was only six months old, so I cannot feel that I have any very intimate acquaintance with Lady Gundred. Tell me some more about her; what is she like?’ ‘The sweetest and best of women, Mr. Restormel. And so pretty. Quite extraordinary, for she must be--what?--well over thirty, certainly, and yet she looks quite like a young girl still. Fair, you know, with a delightful complexion and lovely golden hair, and that kind of beautiful little figure which never alters. Yes, she must certainly be over thirty. She has got a son who can’t be less than fifteen. Jack, surely Jim Darnley is quite fifteen?’ Young Hoope-Arkwright glanced up from the photograph-book with which he was beguiling the time. ‘What, Jim Darnley? Oh yes, fifteen, at least.’ ‘There you are. And his mother looks like his sister still. He is the dearest boy, Jim Darnley--the simplest, most unaffected creature. And, of course, he will be Duke of March and Brakelond one of these days, when his grandfather dies. They are sure to revive the title for him. But he might be just anybody, and his mother the same. I have always wondered why she does not make her husband take her own name. But no; she is such a really good woman that she thinks a wife ought always to stick to her husband’s name. That shows you what she is. And such a worker of all good kind works, indefatigable among the poor and the sick--for ever sending out soup and boots and blankets, you know. Her life is quite made up of kindnesses. They very, very seldom dine out, the Darnleys, in the country, so that you are lucky to meet them here like this to-night. Her husband is a very nice man too. I am sure you will like them both immensely. But of course she is the most interesting of the two.’ At this point the other guests began to arrive, and Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright was forced to abandon her dialogue with young Restormel. She introduced him rather perfunctorily to one or two of the new arrivals, taking pains to slur over his name until she should have the opportunity of explaining his identity quietly to them at dinner or afterwards; then she turned to her hospitable duties, and Jack Hoope-Arkwright carried off his friend into one of the windows, where they stood laughing and talking together while the guests gradually gathered. Then, after a few moments, Ivor Restormel and his host came back towards the hearth to look at some photograph or ornament that stood on the primitive oak table that stood close by, and thus it was that they were once more close at the hostess’s side when at last, in a significant pause, the butler re-entered. His appearance suggested an archbishop of sporting tendencies, and he evidently cultivated a nice sense of drama. His voice boomed sonorous as he announced: ‘Mr. and Lady Gundred Darnley.’ Mrs. Hoope-Arkwright moved forward a step or two.