ves, it does do so well;
we've made several--and they are very thick. Anne opened her mouth in a
silly way she has, just enough to make him say, 'What are you gaping at,
Miss Anne, may I ask?' but luckily he didn't notice. And Hebe squeezed
my hand under the table-cloth. It was breakfast time. But in a minute he
unfrudged his eyebrows, and then we knew it was over.

'Quite right, my dear Valeria,' he said. Valeria is mums' name;
isn't it pretty? 'I am very glad for you to show attention to Dick's
wife--quite right, as you are at the head of the family. As for Judith
Merthyr--h-m--h-m--she's a strong-minded young woman, I'm told--don't
care about strong-minded young women--wonder she condescends to such
frivolity. And thank you, my dear, for your consideration for me. But
it won't be needed. I must leave for Holyhead on Tuesday. They are
expecting me at Tilly' something or other (I don't mean that gran said
that, but I can't remember these long Irish names).

Tuesday was the day before the Drawing-room. I'm sure mums clapped her
inside hands--that's another of our makings up--I know _we_ did. For if
gran had been there I don't believe we'd have got in to the train-show
at all. And of course it's much jollier to be in the drawing-room in the
afternoon, waiting for them to come back, and speaking to the people
that are there, and getting a good many extra teas and sandwiches and
cakes and ices, than just to see mums start in the morning, however
pretty she looks.

Grandfather was really rather wonderful that day.

'What are you going to wear, my dear Valeria?' he asked mother.

She told him.

'H-m, h-m,' he said. He has different ways of h-ming. This time it was
all right, not like when he spoke of Judy Merthyr. And actually a smile
broke over his face.

The night before he was leaving he came into the drawing-room just
before dinner-time, looking very smiley. He was holding something in his
hand--a dark leather case.

'My dear child,' he said, and though we were all five there we knew he
was speaking to mother. I like to hear mother called 'my dear
child'--father does it sometimes--it makes her seem so nice and young.
'My dear child,' he said, 'I have got something here that I want you to
wear in your hair at the Drawing-room. I cannot _give_ it you out and
out, though I mean you to have it some day, but I want to lend it you
for as long as you like.'

And then he opened the case, mother standing close by, and