she so characterised was only an invitation she had carried to her sister’s former mistress, Mrs Jamieson.  “Her former occupation considered, could Miss Matty excuse the liberty?” Ah! thought I, she has found out that double cap, and is going to rectify Miss Matty’s head-dress.  No! it was simply to extend her invitation to Miss Matty and to me.  Miss Matty bowed acceptance; and I wondered that, in the graceful action, she did not feel the unusual weight and extraordinary height of her head-dress.  But I do not think she did, for she recovered her balance, and went on talking to Miss Betty in a kind, condescending manner, very different from the fidgety way she would have had if she had suspected how singular her appearance was.  “Mrs Jamieson is coming, I think you said?” asked Miss Matty.

“Yes.  Mrs Jamieson most kindly and condescendingly said she would be happy to come.  One little stipulation she made, that she should bring Carlo.  I told her that if I had a weakness, it was for dogs.”

“And Miss Pole?” questioned Miss Matty, who was thinking of her pool at Preference, in which Carlo would not be available as a partner.

“I am going to ask Miss Pole.  Of course, I could not think of asking her until I had asked you, madam—­the rector’s daughter, madam.  Believe me, I do not forget the situation my father held under yours.”

“And Mrs Forrester, of course?”

“And Mrs Forrester.  I thought, in fact, of going to her before I went to Miss Pole.  Although her circumstances are changed, madam, she was born at Tyrrell, and we can never forget her alliance to the Bigges, of Bigelow Hall.”

Miss Matty cared much more for the little circumstance of her being a very good card-player.

“Mrs Fitz-Adam—­I suppose” —

“No, madam.  I must draw a line somewhere.  Mrs Jamieson would not, I think, like to meet Mrs Fitz-Adam.  I have the greatest respect for Mrs Fitz-Adam—­but I cannot think her fit society for such ladies as Mrs Jamieson and Miss Matilda Jenkyns.”

Miss Betty Barker bowed low to Miss Matty, and pursed up her mouth.  She looked at me with sidelong dignity, as much as to say, although a retired milliner, she was no democrat, and understood the difference of ranks.

“May I beg you to come as near half-past six to my little dwelling, as possible, Miss Matilda?  Mrs Jamieson dines at five, but has kindly promised not to delay her visit beyond that time—­half-past six.”  And with a swimming curtsey Miss Betty Barker took her leave.

My prophetic soul foretold a visit that afternoon from Miss Pole, who usually came to call on Miss Matilda after any event—­or indeed in sight of any event—­to talk it over with her.

“Miss Betty told me it was to be a choice and select few,” said Miss Pole, as she and Miss Matty compared notes.

“Yes, so she said.  Not even Mrs Fitz-Adam.”