“You would have left it to Mr. Venn!  My dear, the less said the sooner mended.”

Cecil was silenced, but shocked, for she was far too young and inexperienced to understand that indecorous customs complied with as a matter of course, do not necessarily denote lack of innate modesty—­far less, how they could be confounded with home allegiance; and as to Anne, poor Rosamond was, in her eyes, only too like the ladies who impeded Christiana on her outset.

So her ladyship retreated into languid sleepy dignity towards both her sisters-in-law; and on Monday evening showed herself, for a moment, more decolletee, if possible, than before.  Mrs. Poynsett feared lest Julius were weak in this matter; but at night she had a visit from him.

“Mother,” he said, “it will not happen again.  Say no more.”

“I am only too thankful.”

“What do you think settled it?  No less than Lady Tyrrell’s admiration.”

“What could she have said?”

“I can’t make out.  Rose was far too indignant to be comprehensible, when she told me on the way home; but there was something about adopting the becoming, and a repetition of—­of some insolent praise.”  And his mother felt his quiver of suppressed wrath.  “If Rose had been what that woman took her for, she would have been delighted,” he continued; “but—­”

“It was horrible to her!” said his mother.  “And to you.  Yes, I knew it would right itself, and I am glad nothing passed about it between us.”

“So am I; she quite separates you from Cecil and Anne, and indeed all her anger is with Lady Tyrrell.  She will have it there was malice in inciting her to shock old friends and annoy you—­a sort of attempt to sympathize her into opposition.”

“Which had a contrary effect upon a generous nature.”

“Exactly!  She thinks nothing too bad for that woman, and declares she is a serpent.”

“That’s dear Rosamond’s anger; but I imagine that when I occur to Camilla’s mind, it is as the obstructive old hag, who once stood in her way; and so, without any formed designs, whatever she says of me is coloured by that view.”

“Quite possible; and I am afraid the sister is just such another.  She seems quite to belong to Mrs. Duncombe’s set.  I sat next her at dinner, and tried to talk to her, but she would only listen to that young Strangeways.”

“Strangeways!  I wonder if that is Susan Lorimer’s son?”

“Probably, for his Christian name is Lorimer.”

“I knew her rather well as a girl.  She was old Lord Lorimer’s youngest daughter, and we used to walk in the Square gardens together; but I did not see much of her after I married; and after a good while, she married a man who had made a great fortune by mining.  I wonder what her son is like?”

“He must be the man, for he is said to be the millionaire of the regiment.  Just the match that Lady Tyrrell would like.”