Lady Ashbridge was pathetically eager to be what she called “good.”  Michael had made it clear to her that it was his wish that Miss Falbe should not be embarrassed, and any wish just now expressed by Michael was of the nature of a divine command to her.

“Well, this is a pleasure,” she said, looking across to Michael with the eyes of a dog on a beloved master.  “And we are not strangers quite, are we, Miss Falbe?  We sat so near each other to listen to your brother, who I am sure plays beautifully, and the music which Michael made.  Haven’t I got a clever son, and such a good one?”

Sylvia was unerring.  Michael had known she would be.

“Indeed, you have,” she said, sitting down by her.  “And Michael mustn’t hear what we say about him, must he, or he’ll be getting conceited.”

Lady Ashbridge laughed.

“And that would never do, would it?” she said, still retaining Sylvia’s hand.  Then a little dim ripple of compunction broke in her mind.  “Michael,” she said, “we are only joking about your getting conceited.  Miss Falbe and I are only joking.  And—­and won’t you take off your hat, Miss Falbe, for you are not going to hurry away, are you?  You are going to pay us a long visit.”

Michael had not time to remind his mother that ladies who come to tea do not usually take their hats off, for on the word Sylvia’s hands were busy with her hatpins.

“I’m so glad you suggested that,” she said.  “I always want to take my hat off.  I don’t know who invented hats, but I wish he hadn’t.”

Lady Ashbridge looked at her masses of bright hair, and could not help telegraphing a note of admiration, as it were, to Michael.

“Now, that’s more comfortable,” she said.  “You look as if you weren’t going away next minute.  When I like to see people, I hate their going away.  I’m afraid sometimes that Michael will go away, but he tells me he won’t.  And you liked Michael’s music, Miss Falbe?  Was it not clever of him to think of all that out of one simple little tune?  And he tells me you sing so nicely.  Perhaps you would sing to us when we’ve had tea.  Oh, and here is my sister-in-law.  Do you know her—­Lady Barbara?  My dear, what is your husband’s name?”

Seeing Sylvia uncovered, Lady Barbara, with a tact that was creditable to her, but strangely unsuccessful, also began taking off her hat.  Her sister-in-law was too polite to interfere, but, as a matter of fact, she did not take much pleasure in the notion that Barbara was going to stay a very long time, too.  She was fond of her, but it was not Barbara whom Michael wanted.  She turned her attention to the girl again.

“My husband’s away,” she said, confidentially; “he is very busy down at Ashbridge, and I daresay he won’t find time to come up to town for many weeks yet.  But, you know, Michael and I do very well without him, very well, indeed, and it would never do to take him away from his duties—­would it, Michael?”