“We all admire your son so enormously,” said Mrs. Aldwinkle. “He’s so—how shall I say?—so _post-bellum_, so essentially one of _us_.” Mrs. Aldwinkle made haste to establish her position among the youngest of the younger generation. “All that one only dimly feels he expresses. Can you be surprised at our admiration?” So far Mrs. Chelifer was rather surprised by everything. It took her some time to get used to Mrs. Aldwinkle. Nor was the aspect of the palace calculated to allay her astonishment. “A superb specimen of early baroque,” Mrs. Aldwinkle assured her, pointing with her parasol. But even after she knew the dates, it all seemed to Mrs. Chelifer rather queer. Mrs. Aldwinkle remained extremely cordial to her new guest; but in secret she disliked Mrs. Chelifer extremely. There would have been small reason, in any circumstances, for Mrs. Aldwinkle to have liked her. The two women had nothing in common; their views of life were different and irreconcilable, they had lived in separate worlds. At the best of times Mrs. Aldwinkle would have found her guest _bourgeoise_ and _bornée_. As things actually were she loathed her. And no wonder; for in his mother Chelifer had a permanent and unexceptionable excuse for getting away from Mrs. Aldwinkle. Mrs. Aldwinkle naturally resented the presence in her house of this cause and living justification of infidelity. At the same time it was necessary for her to keep on good terms with Mrs. Chelifer; for if she quarrelled with the mother, it was obvious that the son would take himself off. Inwardly chafing, Mrs. Aldwinkle continued to treat her with the same gushing affection as at first. To Mrs. Aldwinkle’s guests the arrival of Mrs. Chelifer was more welcome than to herself. Mr. Falx found in her a more sympathetic and comprehensible soul than he could discover in his hostess. To Lord Hovenden and Irene her arrival meant the complete cessation of Irene’s duties as a spy; they liked her well enough, moreover, for her own sake. “A nice old fing,” was how Lord Hovenden summed her up. Miss Thriplow affected almost to worship her. “She’s so wonderfully good and simple and _integral_, if you understand what I mean,” Miss Thriplow explained to Calamy. “To be able to be so undividedly enthusiastic about folk-songs and animals’ rights and all that sort of thing—it’s really wonderful. She’s a lesson to us,” Miss Thriplow concluded, “a lesson.” Mrs. Chelifer became endowed, for her, with all the qualities that the village grocer had unfortunately not possessed. The symbol of his virtues—if only he had possessed them—had been the white apron; Mrs. Chelifer’s integrity was figured forth by her dateless grey dresses.