rly atrocious that, in the view
of the benefactor's family, it contained enough of the element of humour
to warrant a mild laugh at a club. There was the deadliness of the
story: its lack of malice, even of resentment. Deadlier still were
Mrs. Palmer's phrases: "a pushing sort of girl," "a very pushing little
person," and "used to be a bit TOO conspicuous, in fact." But she spoke
placidly and by chance; being as obviously without unkindly motive as
Mr. Palmer was when he related the cause of Alfred Lamb's amusement.
Her opinion of the obscure young lady momentarily her topic had been
expressed, moreover, to her husband, and at her own table. She sat
there, large, kind, serene--a protest might astonish but could
not change her; and Russell, crumpling in his strained fingers the
lace-edged little web of a napkin on his knee, found heart enough to
grow red, but not enough to challenge her.

She noticed his colour, and attributed it to the embarrassment of a
scrupulously gallant gentleman caught in a lapse of attention to a lady.
"Don't be disturbed," she said, benevolently. "People aren't expected to
listen all the time to their relatives. A high colour's very becoming
to you, Arthur; but it really isn't necessary between cousins. You can
always be informal enough with us to listen only when you care to."

His complexion continued to be ruddier than usual, however, throughout
the meal, and was still somewhat tinted when Mrs. Palmer rose. "The
man's bringing you cigarettes here," she said, nodding to the two
gentlemen. "We'll give you a chance to do the sordid kind of talking we
know you really like. Afterwhile, Mildred will show you what's in bloom
in the hothouse, if you wish, Arthur."

Mildred followed her, and, when they were alone in another of the
spacious rooms, went to a window and looked out, while her mother seated
herself near the center of the room in a gilt armchair, mellowed with
old Aubusson tapestry. Mrs. Palmer looked thoughtfully at her daughter's
back, but did not speak to her until coffee had been brought for them.

"Thanks," Mildred said, not turning, "I don't care for any coffee, I
believe."

"No?" Mrs. Palmer said, gently. "I'm afraid our good-looking cousin
won't think you're very talkative, Mildred. You spoke only about twice
at lunch. I shouldn't care for him to get the idea you're piqued because
he's come here so little lately, should you?"

"No, I shouldn't," Mildred answered in a low voice