“Dear Timothy is faithful to the past,” said Miss Crewys, majestically.

“I wish old Lady Crewys had been as faithful,” said Lady Mary, shrugging her shoulders.

“Young people always like changes,” said Lady Belstone, more leniently.

“Young people!” said Lady Mary, with a rather pathetic smile.  “John will think you are laughing at me.  Am I to be young still at five-and-thirty?”

“To be sure,” said John, “unless you are going to be so unkind as to make a man only ten years your senior feel elderly.”

Miss Crewys interposed with a simple statement.  “In my day, the age of a lady was never referred to in polite conversation.  Least of all by herself.  I never allude to mine.”

“You are unmarried, Georgina,” said Lady Belstone, unexpectedly turning upon her ally.  “Unmarried ladies are always sensitive on the subject of age.  I am sure I do not care who knows that my poor admiral was twenty years my senior.  And his age can be looked up in any book of reference.  It would have been useless to try and conceal it,—­a man so well known.”

“A woman is as old as she looks,” said the canon, soothingly, for the annoyance of Miss Crewys was visible.  “I am bound to say that Miss Crewys looks exactly the same as when I first knew her.”

“Of course, a spinster escapes the wear and tear of matrimony,” said Miss Crewys, glaring at her widowed relative.

“H’m, h’m!” said Dr. Blundell.  “By-the-by, have you inspected the old picture gallery, Mr. Crewys?”

“Not yet,” said John.

Lady Belstone shot a glance of speechless indignation at her sister.  Sympathy between them was immediately restored.  Prompt action was necessary on the part of the family, or this presumptuous physician would be walking round the house to show John Crewys the portraits of his own ancestors.

“I shall be delighted to show our cousin the pictures in the gallery and in the dining-room,” said Miss Crewys, “if my sister Isabella will accompany me, and if Lady Mary has no objections.”

“You are very kind,” said John.  He rose and walked to a small rosewood cabinet of curios.  “I see there are some beautiful miniatures here.”

“Oh, those do not belong to the family.”

“They are Setoun things—­some of the few that came to me,” said Lady Mary, rather timidly.  “I am afraid they would not interest you.”

“Not interest me!  But indeed I care only too much for such things,” said John.  “Here is a Cosway, and, unless I very much mistake, a Plimer,—­and an Engleheart.”

Lady Mary unlocked the cabinet with pretty eagerness, and put a small morocco case into his hands.

“Then here is something you will like to see.”

For a moment John did not understand.  He glanced quickly from the row of tiny, pearl-framed, old-world portraits, of handsome nobles and rose-tinted court dames, to the very indifferent modern miniature he held.