Bottomley duly announced dinner.  But he might have added something to the conversation, had he been permitted.  He had had some simple and direct conversation with Madame Carter, not an hour before, and had in consequence sent up a dinner tray to Miss Field.  Rosa, taking the tray, had been instructed to say simply that Madame Carter had told Mr. Bottomley that Miss Field wished her dinner upstairs.  But Rosa was perfectly in touch with the situation, too, and carried the news below stairs that Miss Field had got as red as fire, and had stood looking from Rosa to the tray, and from the tray to Rosa, for—­well, full five minutes, before she had said, “Thank you, Rosa, you may put it there on the table!”

Madame Carter sparkled her best that evening.  Mrs. Tabor, too, carried along the conversation noisily if not brilliantly, until the young people got well under way.  Richard was rather silent, but then he was always silent.  And after awhile the rich, significant tones of Royal Blondin were heard.  It was well after nine when they all drifted out into the cool dimness of the porch for coffee; Ward started music, Saunders and Amy danced.  The men attempted a little pool, but were too weary, and by half-past ten Mrs. Tabor had tripped upstairs after the young girls, with a buoyant good-night for her host, and the old lady, lingering for a minute, had a chance to explain.

“About Miss Field, dear.  I gave her just a kindly hint as to the propriety of her being always present at dinner, and she was sensible enough to take it!  Now and then, of course—­”

He jerked impatiently.

“I wish you would be a trifle more careful with your kindly hints, Mother!  Miss Field is a most exceptional girl—­”

“My dear boy,” said the old lady, fanning rapidly, “I could get you a dozen women infinitely more capable—­”

“—­and I don’t want her feelings hurt!” Richard finished, with a return to his usual gentleness.

“You won’t hurt her feelings!” his mother predicted, roundly.  “Not while the entire household is taking her orders, and the bank honouring her checks—­oh, no, my dear! don’t worry about that!”

“To-morrow night,” Richard said, half to himself, “I shall make it a point to ask her to come down to dinner.  If she prefers her room—­”

“Richard,” his mother said, in a low, furious tone, “if you do that, you may be kind enough to excuse me!  While poor Isabelle was here, while Nina was a child, it was all well enough!  But nothing could be more unfortunate for your daughter, for your young son, than to have any fresh gossip—­the sort of thing people are only too ready to say, and are beginning to say now!”

“Why, how you do cook up things from whole cloth, Mother!” the man said with his indulgent smile.  “You see the thing too closely, you are right in the middle of it!”

“I see that Harriet Field is an extremely pretty woman,” his mother said, hotly.