'What does it matter to any of us who was Winefred's mother, and whence she came, and what was her maiden name? Winefred is sent to us, not that we may pick holes in her pedigree, but patch up gaps in her education. What does society care about her mother? Not a rush. It is solely those who are disappointed and soured who go about with the muck-rake scraping in the gutters for dirty, inconsidered, and castaway trifles, and rejoice in the foulest find the fork brings up. Society does not ask these questions, does not care about the mothers of those whom it admires. Society does recognise in Winefred a wholesome mind, a fresh nature, and a sound heart. These are things not brought to the surface by the muck-rake. Society recognises her good qualities and respects her, regardless of father or mother, for her own sake.' 'Oh, yes!' sneered Sylvana, 'you fight her battles because she has promised you a new gown and bonnet.' 'I fight the battles of any one who is an object of envy and spite to the gutter-scrapers.' At that moment the front-door bell was rung, and a knock followed. 'Quick――quick, Jesse!' exclaimed the mother. 'Put that dreadful tablecloth under the sofa. It ought never to have been brought in here. 'Sylvana, hide the tureen, and for mercy's sake, Jesse, take off your thimble, slip it into your pocket, and pretend you were reading _Rogers on the Imagination_.' In another minute the door was opened and Mr. Holwood entered, accompanied by his daughter. After the first salutations, always made with the most laboured politeness by him, and responded to with formal courtesy by Mrs. Tomkin-Jones, as though they were practising a figure under the supervision of a dancing master, Winefred said: 'I went first of all to my father's lodgings to see him, and have brought him on here.' 'You have certainly tumbled upon us quite unexpectedly,' said Sylvana. 'I must confess that in Bath we are accustomed to send a letter beforehand to notify our coming. But customs differ in different latitudes. That may not be usual at Axmouth which is _de rigueur_ at Bath.' 'Sylvana, be silent,' ordered Mrs. Tomkin-Jones, with a frown at her eldest daughter; then with a face wreathed in smiles she said to Winefred, 'My dear, delighted to see you. At all times you are welcome.' 'I am sorry if I have acted wrongly,' said the girl. 'When I left, I said that I would return in a fortnight. I have not exceeded my time. I have brought the choughs; they are in the passage.' 'In the hall,' was Mrs. Tomkin-Jones's correction. 'How good of you, and how gratified the Square will be at our contribution to the garden! It will be noticed in the _Bath Gazette_.' 'I hope the ancestral mansion is looking its best,' said Sylvana, who stood by the fireplace playing with the spills on the mantel-piece. 'I do not understand your meaning,' answered Winefred, looking fixedly in her face. Jesse drew to her side. She saw that a crisis approached.