his ironies had ever
stood up to Clara; the matter was too delicate. Frances Freeland,
indeed--not because she had any philosophic preconceptions on the matter,
but because it was 'not nice, dear, to be wasteful' even if it were only
of rose-leaves, or to 'have too much decoration,' such as Japanese prints
in places where they hum--sometimes told her daughter-in-law frankly what
was wrong, without, however, making the faintest impression upon Clara,
for she was not sensitive, and, as she said to Stanley, it was 'only
Mother.'

When they had drunk that special Chinese tea, all the rage, but which no
one really liked, in the inner morning, or afternoon room--for the
drawing-rooms were too large to be comfortable except at week-ends--they
went to see the children, a special blend of Stanley and Clara, save the
little Francis, who did not seem to be entirely body. Then Clara took
them to their rooms. She lingered kindly in Nedda's, feeling that the
girl could not yet feel quite at home, and looking in the soap-dish lest
she might not have the right verbena, and about the dressing-table to see
that she had pins and scent, and plenty of 'pot-pourri,' and thinking:
'The child is pretty--a nice girl, not like her mother.' Explaining
carefully how, because of the approaching week-end, she had been obliged
to put her in 'a very simple room' where she would be compelled to cross
the corridor to her bath, she asked her if she had a quilted
dressing-gown, and finding that she had not, left her saying she would
send one--and could she do her frocks up, or should Sirrett come?

Abandoned, the girl stood in the middle of the room, so far more 'simple'
than she had ever slept in, with its warm fragrance of rose-leaves and
verbena, its Aubusson carpet, white silk-quilted bed, sofa, cushioned
window-seat, dainty curtains, and little nickel box of biscuits on little
spindly table. There she stood and sniffed, stretched herself, and
thought: 'It's jolly--only, it smells too much!' and she went up to the
pictures, one by one. They seemed to go splendidly with the room, and
suddenly she felt homesick. Ridiculous, of course! Yet, if she had
known where her father's room was, she would have run out to it; but her
memory was too tangled up with stairs and corridors--to find her way down
to the hall again was all she could have done.

A maid came in now with a blue silk gown very thick and soft. Could she
do anything for Miss Freeland?