“It does not commit him; it is before he comes home, on Wednesday,” said Herbert.

“Never mind that; what a woman does her husband does.  Look here, Mrs. Poynsett, I brought over Jenny’s note in my pocket; see, here are two—­one to accept, and one to refuse, just as you choose.”

“Oh! accept, by all means,” cried Mrs. Poynsett; “don’t leave the wrong one!”

Then she changed the conversation, so decidedly, that Mr. Bowater could not resume his warning; but after taking leave of her, he met Rosamond in the avenue, and could not help saying, “Pray, was my old friend aware of Mrs. Raymond’s doings?”

“Have you told her?  Oh!  I am so glad!”

“Then it is as you said, Herbert.  Mrs. Raymond had left her in ignorance!  The impudent baggage!  That’s what the world is coming to!”

“But what regular game Mrs. Poynsett was!” said Herbert.  “You could not make out in the least that she had been left in the lurch; and I’m sure she has a plan, by the way in which she desired Jenny and Edie to come.”

“Only make her understand that the Wil’sbro’ folks are in a ticklish state,” said Mr. Bowater; “they are sulking already, because they say the ladies have been stirring him up to put them to expense about the drains.”

“Wil’sbro’ isn’t sweet,” said Herbert.

“There’s been nothing amiss in my time,” returned his father.  “Perfectly healthy in all reason!  Ay! you may laugh, young folks, but I never heard of any receipt to hinder people from dying; and let well alone is a safe maxim.”

“If it be well,” said Rosamond.  “However, Raymond says whatever is done must be by general consent, and that small private attempts do more harm than good.”

“He had better take care what he says.  If they fancy he is in league with that ridiculous Duncombe woman against their pockets, Moy is on the watch to take advantage of it; and all the old family interest will not save his seat.”

When Rosamond reached home she found Anne beside her mother-in-law, provided with a quire of note-paper and pile of envelopes.  “My dear, I want your help,” she said.  “Till my accident I always had a children’s party at Christmas; and now I have so many young people to manage it for me, I think we might try again, and combine it with Cecil’s ladies’ party, on Wednesday.”

“Hurrah!” cried Rosamond.  “You mean that we should have plenty of fun—­and, in fact, drum out the rights of woman.”

“At any rate, present a counter attraction.  You and Charlie and your brothers, with the Bowaters, might do something?”

“Trust me!” cried Rosamond.  “Oh!  I am so thankful to Mr. Bowater.  Julius and I had our blood boiling; and I said as much or more to Cecil than woman could, but she minded me no more than the old white cockatoo; and Julius said our telling would only make more mischief.”

“He was quite right,” said his mother.  “Let there not be one word of opposition, you know; only swamp it.  You could get up some charades, and have something going on all the evening.”