“Oh, thank you!” said Lily.

“And that reminds me,” said Constance, getting up with great difficulty from her chair.

“Can I find anything for you?” Lily asked.

“No, no!” said Constance, leaving the room.

She returned in a moment with her jewel-box, a receptacle of ebony with ivory ornamentations.

“I’ve always meant to give you this,” said Constance, taking from the box a fine cameo brooch.  “I don’t seem to fancy wearing it myself.  And I should like to see you wearing it.  It was mother’s.  I believe they’re coming into fashion again.  I don’t see why you shouldn’t wear it while you’re in mourning.  They aren’t half so strict now about mourning as they used to be.”

“Truly!” murmured Lily, ecstatically.  They kissed.  Constance seemed to breathe out benevolence, as with trembling hands she pinned the brooch at Lily’s neck.  She lavished the warm treasure of her heart on Lily, whom she regarded as an almost perfect girl, and who had become the idol of her latter years.

“What a magnificent old watch!” said Lily, as they delved together in the lower recesses of the box.  “And the chain to it!”

“That was father’s,” said Constance.  “He always used to swear by it.  When it didn’t agree with the Town Hall, he used to say:  ’Then th’ Town Hall’s wrong.’  And it’s curious, the Town Hall was wrong.  You know the Town Hall clock has never been a good timekeeper.  I’ve been thinking of giving that watch and chain to Dick.”

“Have you?” said Lily.

“Yes.  It’s just as good as it was when father wore it.  My husband never would wear it.  He preferred his own.  He had little fancies like that.  And Cyril takes after his father.”  She spoke in her ‘dry’ tone.  “I’ve almost decided to give it to Dick—­that is, if he behaves himself.  Is he still on with this ballooning?”

Lily Smiled guiltily:  “Oh yes!”

“Well,” said Constance, “I never heard the like!  If he’s been up and come down safely, that ought to be enough for him.  I wonder you let him do it, my dear.”

“But how can I stop him?  I’ve no control over him.”

“But do you mean to say that he’d still do it if you told him seriously you didn’t want him to?”

“Yes,” said Lily; and added:  “So I shan’t tell him.”

Constance nodded her head, musing over the secret nature of men.  She remembered too well the cruel obstinacy of Samuel, who had nevertheless loved her.  And Dick Povey was a thousand times more bizarre than Samuel.  She saw him vividly, a little boy, whizzing down King Street on a boneshaker, and his cap flying off.  Afterwards it had been motor-cars!  Now it was balloons!  She sighed.  She was struck by the profound instinctive wisdom just enunciated by the girl.

“Well,” she said, “I shall see.  I’ve not made up my mind yet.  What’s the young man doing this afternoon, by the way?”