After revolving what form of remonstrance would be least offensive during half the night and day, Mrs. Poynsett was not prepared for the appearance, about noon, of her son Julius, when, coming to what she termed the confidential side of her couch, he asked hesitatingly, and colouring, “Mother, I want you to tell me, was there anything amiss in Rose’s dress last night?”

“You did not perceive—­”

“I’m not used to the style of thing.  Is it not the way with what you call full dress?”

“To a certain degree—­” she began.

He caught her up.  “And here has Cecil been putting my poor Rose into a perfect agony!  It is only woman’s censorious nonsense, isn’t it, mother?  Mere folly to think otherwise!  I knew you would set my mind at rest; and if you would tell Cecil that you will not have Rosamond insulted, it would be as well.”

“Stay, Julius,” as he was walking off complacently, “I grieve, but I must confess that I was going to speak to Rosamond myself.”

He looked very blank.

“Mind, I am certain that it is only an innocent following of what she has been brought up to;” and as he signed a sort of hurt acquiescence, as if trying to swallow the offence, she added, “When do you go out again?”

“Not till Monday, when we dine at Colonel Ross’s.  He is an old friend of Lord Rathforlane.”

“Then I am inclined to let it cool.  Sometimes advice that has been resented does its work.”

“You don’t think the interference justifiable?”

“Not from that quarter.”

“And can it be needful to attend to it?”

“My dear Julius, it is not a style of dress I could ever have worn, nor have let my daughters have worn, if I had had any.”

“Conclusive, that!” said Julius, getting up, more really angered with his mother than he had been since his childhood.

However, he conquered himself by the time he had reached the door, and came back to say, “I beg your pardon, mother, I know you would not say so without need.”

“Thank you, my boy!” and he saw tears in her eyes, the first time he was conscious of having brought them.  As he bent down to kiss her, she rallied, and cheerfully said, “I have no doubt it will all come right—­Rosamond is too nice not to feel it at once.”

No such thing; Rosamond was still furious.  If he disapproved, she would submit to him; but he had seen nothing wrong, had he?

“My dear Rose, I told you I was no judge:  you forget what my eyes are; and my mother—­”

“You have been to your mother?”

“My dear, what could I do?”

“And you think I am going to insult my own mother and sisters to please any woman’s finical prudish notions’?  Pray what did Mrs. Poynsett say?”