But he did not come, and presently his housekeeper came in with many apologies to explain he would not be back for hours, having started after service on a round of parish visiting instead of first returning home, as she had expected.  She herself was plainly depressed by the fact.  “I did hope he would have come in for a bit of lunch first,” she said, sadly.

All I could do was to leave the note, to which late in the day came an answer, declining simply and directly on the ground that he did not dine out in Lent.

“I cannot see why,” observed Lady Atherley, as we sat together over the drawing-room fire after tea, “because it is possible to have a very nice dinner without meat.  I remember one we had abroad once at an hotel on Good Friday.  There were sixteen courses, chiefly fish, no meat even in the soup, only cream and eggs and that sort of thing, all beautifully cooked with exquisite sauces.  Even George said he would not mind fasting in that way.  It would have been nice if he could have come to meet Mrs. Molyneux to-morrow.  I am sure they must be connected in some way, because Lord—­”

And then my mind wandered whilst Lady Atherley entered into some genealogical calculations, for which she has nothing less than a genius.  My attention was once again captured by the name de Noel, how introduced I know not, but it gave me an excuse for asking—­

“Lady Atherley, what is Mrs. de Noel like?”

“Cecilia?  She is rather tall and rather fair, with brown hair.  Not exactly pretty, but very ladylike-looking.  I think she would be very good-looking if she thought more about her dress.”

“Is she clever?”

“No, not at all; and that is very strange, for the Atherleys are such a clever family, and she has quite the ways of a clever person, too; so odd, and so stupid about little things that anyone can remember.  I don’t believe she could tell you, if you asked her, what relation her husband was to Lord Stowell.”

“She seems a great favourite.”

“Oh, no one could possibly help liking her.  She is the most good-natured person; there is nothing she would not do to help one; she is a dear thing, but most odd, so very odd.  I often think it is so fortunate that she married a sailor, because he is so much away from home.”

“Don’t they get on, then?”

“Oh dear, yes; they are devoted to each other, and he thinks everything she does quite perfect.  But then he is very different from most men; he thinks so little about eating, and he takes everything so easy; I don’t think he cares what strange people Cecilia asks to the house.”

“Strange people!”

“Well; strange people to have on a visit.  Invalids and—­people that have nowhere else they could go to.”

“Do you mean poor people from the East End?”

“Oh no; some of them are quite rich.  She had an idiot there with his mother once who was heir to a very large fortune in the Colonies somewhere; but of course nobody else would have had them, and I think it must have been very uncomfortable.  And then once she actually had a woman who had taken to drinking.  I did not see her, I am thankful to say, but there was a deformed person once staying there, I saw him being wheeled about the garden.  It was very unpleasant.  I think people like that should always live shut up.”