‘The godmother?’ he glistened upon Nesta.

She gave him low half-notes of the little blue butterfly’s imitation of the superb contralto; and her hand and head at turn to hint the theatrical operatic attitude.

‘Delicious!’ he cried, his eyelids were bedewed at the vision of the three of them planted in the past; and here again, out of the dark wood, where something had required to be said, and had been said; and all was happily over, owing to the goodness and sweetness of the two dear innocents;—­whom heaven bless!  Jealousy of their naturally closer heart-at-heart, had not a whisper for him; part of their goodness and sweetness was felt to be in the not excluding him.

Nesta engaged to sing one of the ’old duets with her mother.  She saw her mother’s breast lift in a mechanical effort to try imaginary notes, as if doubtful of her capacity, more at home in the dumb deep sigh they fell to.  Her mother’s heroism made her a sacred woman to the thoughts of the girl, overcoming wonderment at the extreme submissiveness.

She put a screw on her mind to perceive the rational object there might be for causing her mother to go through tortures in receiving and visiting; and she was arrested by the louder question, whether she could think such a man as her father irrational.

People with resounding names, waves of a steady stream, were announced by Arlington, just as in the days, that seemed remote, before she went to Moorsedge; only they were more numerous, and some of the titles had ascended a stage.  There were great lords, there were many great ladies; and Lady Grace Halley shuffling amid them, like a silken shimmer in voluminous robes.

They crowded about their host where he stood.  ‘He, is their Law!’ Colney said, speaking unintelligibly, in the absence of the Simeon Fenellan regretted so loudly by Mr. Beaves Urmsing.  They had an air of worshipping, and he of swimming.

There were also City magnates, and Lakelands’ neighbours:  the gentleman representing Pride of Port, Sir Abraham Quatley; and Colonel Corfe; Sir Rodwell and Lady Blachington; Mrs. Fanning; Mr. Caddis.  Few young men and maids were seen.  Dr. John Cormyn came without his wife, not mentioning her.  Mrs. Peter Yatt touched the notes for voices at the piano.  Priscilla Graves was a vacancy, and likewise the Rev. Septimus Barmby.  Peridon and Catkin, and Mr. Pempton took their usual places.  There was no fluting.  A famous Canadian lady was the principal singer.  A Galician violinist, zig-zagging extreme extensions and contractions of his corporeal frame in execution, and described by Colney as ‘Paganini on wall,’ failed to supplant Durandarte in Nesta’s memory.  She was asked by Lady Grace for the latest of Dudley.  Sir Abraham Quatley named him with handsome emphasis.  Great dames caressed her; openly approved; shadowed the future place among them.