Rich Mrs. Romsey, connected with commerce as wife of the chief partner in the firm of Romsey & Renshaw, was staying at the hotel in the interests of her three children.  They were of delicate constitution; their complete recovery, after severe illness which had passed from one to the other, was less speedy than had been anticipated; and the doctor had declared that the nervous system was, in each case, more or less in need of repair.  To arrive at this conclusion, and to recommend a visit to Sandyseal, were events which followed each other (medically speaking) as a matter of course.

The health of the children had greatly improved; the famous air had agreed with them, and the discovery of new playfellows had agreed with them.  They had made acquaintance with Lady Myrie’s well-bred boys, and with Mrs. Norman’s charming little Kitty.  The most cordial good-feeling had established itself among the mothers.  Owing a return for hospitalities received from Lady Myrie and Mrs. Norman, Mrs. Romsey had invited the two ladies to drink tea with her in honor of an interesting domestic event.  Her husband, absent on the Continent for some time past, on business connected with his firm, had returned to England, and had that evening joined his wife and children at Sandyseal.

Lady Myrie had arrived, and Mr. Romsey had been presented to her.  Mrs. Norman, expected to follow, was represented by a courteous note of apology.  She was not well that evening, and she begged to be excused.

“This is a great disappointment,” Mrs. Romsey said to her husband.  “You would have been charmed with Mrs. Norman—­highly-bred, accomplished, a perfect lady.  And she leaves us to-morrow.  The departure will not be an early one; and I shall find an opportunity, my dear, of introducing you to my friend and her sweet little Kitty.”

Mr. Romsey looked interested for a moment, when he first heard Mrs. Norman’s name.  After that, he slowly stirred his tea, and seemed to be thinking, instead of listening to his wife.

“Have you made the lady’s acquaintance here?” he inquired.

“Yes—­and I hope I have made a friend for life,” Mrs. Romsey said with enthusiasm.

“And so do I,” Lady Myrie added.

Mr. Romsey went on with his inquiries.

“Is she a handsome woman?”

Both the ladies answered the question together.  Lady Myrie described Mrs. Norman, in one dreadful word, as “Classical.”  By comparison with this, Mrs. Romsey’s reply was intelligible.  “Not even illness can spoil her beauty!”

“Including the headache she has got to-night?” Mr. Romsey suggested.

“Don’t be ill-natured, dear!  Mrs. Norman is here by the advice of one of the first physicians in London; she has suffered under serious troubles, poor thing.”

Mr. Romsey persisted in being ill-natured.  “Connected with her husband?” he asked.

Lady Myrie entered a protest.  She was a widow; and it was notorious among her friends that the death of her husband had been the happiest event in her married life.  But she understood her duty to herself as a respectable woman.