Lady Dumbello was well aware that she had triumphed, and that her mother’s letter had been invaluable to her.  But it had been used, and therefore she did not read it again.  She ate her breakfast in quiet comfort, looking over a milliner’s French circular as she did so; and then, when the time for such an operation had fully come, she got to her writing-table and answered her mother’s letter.

   DEAR MAMMA [she said],

I thought it best to show your letter at once to Lord Dumbello.  He said that people would be ill-natured, and seemed to think that the telling of such stories could not be helped.  As regards you, he was not a bit angry, but said that you and papa had better come to us for a week about the end of next month.  Do come.  We are to have rather a large dinner-party on the 23rd.  His Royal Highness is coming, and I think papa would like to meet him.  Have you observed that those very high bonnets have all gone out:  I never, liked them; and as I had got a hint from Paris, I have been doing my best to put them down.  I do hope nothing will prevent your coming.

   Your affectionate daughter,

   G. DUMBELLO.

   CARLTON GARDENS, Wednesday.

Mrs Grantly was aware, from the moment in which she received the letter, that she had wronged her daughter by her suspicions.  It did not occur to her to disbelieve a word that was said in the letter, or an inference that was implied.  She had been wrong, and rejoiced that it was so.  But nevertheless there was that in the letter which annoyed and irritated her, though she could not explain to herself the cause of her annoyance.  She had thrown all her heart into that which she had written, but in the words which her child had written, not a vestige of heart was to be found.  In that reconciling of God and Mammon which Mrs Grantly had carried on so successfully in the education of her daughter, the organ had not been required, and had become withered, if not defunct, through want of use.

“We will not go there, I think,” said Mrs Grantly, speaking to her husband.

“Oh dear, no; certainly not.  If you want to go to town at all, I will take rooms for you.  And as for his Royal Highness—!  I have a great respect for his Royal Highness, but I do not in the least desire to meet him at Dumbello’s table.”

And so that matter was settled, as regarded the inhabitants of Plumstead Episcopi.

And whither did Lord Dumbello betake himself when he left his wife’s room in so great a hurry at twelve o’clock?  Not to the Park, nor to Tattersall’s, nor to a committee-room of the House of Commons, nor yet to the bow-window of his club.  But he went straight to a great jeweller’s in Ludgate Hill, and there purchased a wonderful green necklace, very rare and curious, heavy with green sparkling drops, with three rows of shining green stones embedded in chaste gold, —­a necklace amounting almost to a jewelled cuirass in weight and extent.  It had been in all the exhibitions, and was very costly and magnificent.  While Lady Dumbello was still dressing in the evening this was brought to her with her lord’s love, as his token of renewed confidence; and Lady Dumbello, as she counted the sparkles, triumphed inwardly, telling herself that she had played her cards well.