‘Just a moment,’ she announced, ‘and then I must fly. I must, indeed.’ She gathered herself into a welcoming posture, picturesquely assumed the parasol, and stood with protruded hips to watch the opening of the door and the entrance of her nephew’s future wife. Miss Mortimer had clearly no false bashfulness about confronting and challenging the approval of her future husband’s family. Sedately and collectedly she came into the room, greeted Lady Adela, and then underwent the introduction to Mrs. Mimburn. Her lover followed close upon her track--tall, fair, handsome, radiant, his manner filled with proprietary joy. Miss Mortimer might be recognised at first glance as the very fine flower of that type which, after all, even Lady Adela only copied. From head to foot her appearance and bearing proclaimed that she belonged to a class that had ruled unquestioned for many generations. She was very neat, placid, clear-cut in dress, build, and demeanour, an elegant, tiny figure, unalterably, coldly perfect in every detail. Everything about her was exactly as it should be, from the elaborate neatness of her pale golden hair to the nice grace with which she accepted Mrs. Mimburn. Her manners, her smile, were consciously faultless, and she radiated the impression of imperturbable good breeding. She was, in fact, a crisp and charming specimen of that type which develops later into neat-featured peeresses with royalty fringes, violet toques, and short cloaks of sable or mink. It was easy to see how she had attracted Lady Adela. The two women had ease, gentleness, placidity in common. But there the resemblance stopped. Miss Mortimer’s mind was as definite, as clear, as simple as her appearance; she had none of that soft vagueness which characterized Lady Adela; her decisions were as swift and firm as their expression was gentle and well bred; one could divine in her the immovable obstinacy of one who is never violent or angry, but always unchangeably certain that he is right. As she smiled upon Mrs. Mimburn’s congratulatory fondlings, she conceived an instantaneous dislike for that over-decorated woman, and had no difficulty in feeling sure that her disapproval was righteous. ‘Call me Minne,’ Mrs. Mimburn was saying effusively, gladly conscious that she was making a highly favour-impression on the bride-elect. ‘Always remember to call me Minne.’ Mrs. Mimburn had never allowed her nephew to emphasize her age by calling her aunt, and saw no reason for delaying to make the situation clear to her prospective niece. ‘So kind,’ murmured Gundred, smiling into Mrs. Mimburn’s eyes, and noticing the heavy rings of bistre that enhanced their charms. Then she turned to Lady Adela. ‘Just one cup of tea, dear Lady Adela, if I may? And then, really, I must be getting home. Kingston and I have been having the most delightful afternoon, but papa will be thinking I have been run over, or something terrible. And I sent the carriage home, too.’