“Indeed you may say that, my lady,” interposed Griffiths.  “I remember when bombazines used to be worn three full months for an uncle or cousin, and now they’re hardly ever worn at all for the like, except in cases where the brother or sister of him or her as is dead may be stopping in the house, and then only for a month:  and they were always worn the full six months for a brother or sister, and sometimes the twelve months round.  Your aunt, Lady Charlotte, my lady, wore hers the full twelve months, when your uncle, Lord Frederick, was shot by Sir Patrick O’Donnel; and now they very seldom, never, I may say, wear them the six months!—­Indeed, I think mourning is going out altogether; and I’m very sorry for it, for it’s a very decent, proper sort of thing; at least, such was always my humble opinion, my lady.”

“Well; but what I was saying is,” continued the countess, “that what would be thought strange a few years ago, isn’t thought at all so now; and though I’m sure, Selina, I wouldn’t like to do anything that looked unkind to Fanny, I really don’t see how we can help it, as your father makes such a point of it.”

“I can’t say I think it’s right, mamma, for I don’t.  But if you and papa do, of course I’ve nothing further to say.”

“Well, my love, I don’t know that I do exactly think it’s right; and I’m sure it’s not my wish to be having people, especially when I don’t know where on earth to turn for a cook.  But what can we do, my dear?  Adolphus wouldn’t stay the third night here, I’m sure, if there was nobody to amuse him; and you wouldn’t have him turned out of the house, would you?”

“I have him turned out, mamma?  God forbid!  I’d sooner he should be here than anywhere, for here he must be out of harm’s way; but still I think that if he comes to a house of mourning, he might, for a short time, submit to put up with its decent tranquillity.”

“Selina,” said the mother, pettishly, “I really thought you’d help me when I’ve so much to trouble and vex me—­and not make any fresh difficulties.  How can I help it?—­If your father says the people are to come, I can’t say I won’t let them in.  I hope you won’t make Fanny think I’m doing it from disrespect to her.  I’m sure I wouldn’t have a soul here for a twelvemonth, on my own account.”

“I’m sure Miss Wyndham won’t think any such thing, my lady,” said Griffiths; “will she, Lady Selina?—­Indeed, I don’t think she’ll matter it one pin.”

“Indeed, Selina, I don’t think she will,” said the countess; and then she half whispered to her daughter.  “Poor Fanny! it’s not about her brother she’s grieving; it’s that horrid man, Ballindine.  She sent him away, and now she wants to have him back.  I really think a little company will be the best thing to bring her to herself again.”  There was a little degree of humbug in this whisper, for her ladyship meant her daughter to understand that she wouldn’t speak aloud about Fanny’s love-affair before Griffiths; and yet she had spent many a half hour talking to her factotum on that very subject.  Indeed, what subject was there of any interest to Lady Cashel on which she did not talk to Griffiths!