Cecilia turned and saw a woman of middle height, with her hair done in the early Italian fashion, and very small, dark, lively eyes, which looked as though her love of living would keep her busy each minute of her day and all the minutes that she could occupy of everybody else’s days.

“Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace?  Oh! how do you do?  I’ve been meaning to come and see you for quite a long time, but I know you’re always so busy.”

With doubting eyes, half friendly and half defensive, as though chaffing to prevent herself from being chaffed, Cecilia looked at Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace, whom she had met several times at Bianca’s house.  The widow of a somewhat famous connoisseur, she was now secretary of the League for Educating Orphans who have Lost both Parents, vice-president of the Forlorn Hope for Maids in Peril, and treasurer to Thursday Hops for Working Girls.  She seemed to know every man and woman who was worth knowing, and some besides; to see all picture-shows; to hear every new musician; and attend the opening performance of every play.  With regard to literature, she would say that authors bored her; but she was always doing them good turns, inviting them to meet their critics or editors, and sometimes—­though this was not generally known—­pulling them out of the holes they were prone to get into, by lending them a sum of money—­after which, as she would plaintively remark; she rarely saw them more.

She had a peculiar spiritual significance to Mrs. Stephen Dallison, being just on the borderline between those of Bianca’s friends whom Cecilia did not wish and those whom she did wish to come to her own house, for Stephen, a barrister in an official position, had a keen sense of the ridiculous.  Since Hilary wrote books and was a poet, and Bianca painted, their friends would naturally be either interesting or queer; and though for Stephen’s sake it was important to establish which was which, they were so very often both.  Such people stimulated, taken in small doses, but neither on her husband’s account nor on her daughter’s did Cecilia desire that they should come to her in swarms.  Her attitude of mind towards them was, in fact, similar-a sort of pleasurable dread-to that in which she purchased the Westminster Gazette to feel the pulse of social progress.

Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace’s dark little eyes twinkled.

“I hear that Mr. Stone—­that is your father’s name, I think—­is writing a book which will create quite a sensation when it comes out.”

Cecilia bit her lips.  “I hope it never will come out,” she was on the point of saying.

“What will it be called?” asked Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace.  “I gather that it’s a book of Universal Brotherhood.  That’s so nice!”

Cecilia made a movement of annoyance.  “Who told you?”

“Ah!” said Mrs. Tallents Smallpeace, “I do think your sister gets such attractive people at her At Homes.  They all take such interest in things.”