“You may have your faults, Cissy,” said Atherley, “but I will say this for you—­for smoothing people down when they have been rubbed the wrong way, you never had your equal.”

He lay back in a comfortable chair looking at his cousin, who, sitting on a low seat opposite the drawing-room fire, shaded her eyes from the glare with a little hand-screen.

“Mrs. Molyneux, I hear, has gone to sleep,” he went on; “and Mrs. Mallet is unpacking her boxes.  The only person who does not seem altogether happy is my old friend Parkins.  When I inquired after her health a few minutes ago her manner to me was barely civil.”

“Poor Parkins is rather put out,” said Mrs. de Noel in her slow gentle way.  “It is all my fault.  I forgot to pack up the bodice of my best evening gown, and Parkins says it is the only one I look fit to be seen in.”

“But, my dear Cecilia,” said Lady Atherley, looking up from the work which she pursued beside a shaded lamp, “why did not Parkins pack it up herself?”

“Oh, because she had some shopping of her own to do this forenoon, so she asked me to finish packing for her, and of course I said I would; and I promised to try and forget nothing; and then, after all, I went and left the bodice in a drawer.  It is provoking!  The fact is, James spoils me so when he is at home.  He remembers everything for me, and when I do forget anything he never scolds me.”

“Ah, I expect he has a nice time of it,” said Atherley.  “However, it is not my fault.  I warned him how it would be when he was engaged.  I said:  ’I hope, for one thing, you can live on air, old chap for you will get nothing more for dinner if you trust to Cissy to order it.’”

“I don’t believe you said anything of the kind,” observed Lady Atherley.

“No, dear Jane; of course he did not.  He was very much pleased with our marriage.  He said James was the only man he ever knew who was fit to marry me.”

“So he was,” agreed Atherley; “the only man whose temper could stand all he would have to put up with.  We had good proof of that even on the wedding-day, when you kept him kicking his heels for half an hour in the church while you were admiring the effect of your new finery in the glass.”

“What!” cried Lady Atherley incredulously.

“What really did happen, Jane,” said Mrs. de Noel, “was that when Edith Molyneux was trying on my wreath before a looking-glass over the fireplace, she unfortunately dropped it into the grate, and got it in such a mess.  It took us a long time to get the black off, and some of the sprays were so spoiled, we had to take them out.  And it was very unpleasant for Edith, as Aunt Henrietta was extremely angry, because the wreath was her present, you know, and it was very expensive; and as to Parkins, poor dear, she was so vexed she positively cried.  She said I was the most trying lady she had ever waited upon.  She often says so.  I am afraid it is true.”