e
particularly put himself out for me. He has not been to see me since I
don't know when, and the last time he did come he brought Mr. Mitchett."

"Here it was the other way round. It was Mr. Mitchett, the other year,
who first brought Lord Petherton."

"And who," asked the Duchess, "had first brought Mr. Mitchett?"

Mrs. Brookenham, meeting her friend's eyes, looked for an instant as if
trying to recall. "I give it up. I muddle beginnings."

"That doesn't matter if you only MAKE them," the Duchess smiled.

"No, does it?" To which Mrs. Brookenham added: "Did he bring Mr.
Mitchett for Aggie?"

"If he did they'll have been disappointed. Neither of them has seen, in
my house, the tip of her nose." The Duchess announced it with a pomp of
pride.

"Ah but with your ideas that doesn't prevent."

"Prevent what?"

"Why what I suppose you call the pourparlers."

"For Aggie's hand? My dear," said the Duchess, "I'm glad you do me the
justice of feeling that I'm a person to take time by the forelock. It
was not, as you seem to remember, with the sight of Mr. Mitchett that
the question of Aggie's hand began to occupy me. I should be ashamed of
myself if it weren't constantly before me and if I hadn't my feelers
out in more quarters than one. But I've not so much as thought of
Mr. Mitchett--who, rich as he may be, is the son of a shoemaker and
superlatively hideous--for a reason I don't at all mind telling you.
Don't be outraged if I say that I've for a long time hoped you yourself
would find the right use for him." She paused--at present with a
momentary failure of assurance, from which she rallied, however, to
proceed with a burst of earnestness that was fairly noble. "Forgive me
if I just tell you once for all how it strikes me, I'm stupefied at your
not seeming to recognise either your interest or your duty. Oh I
know you want to, but you appear to me--in your perfect good faith of
course--utterly at sea. They're one and the same thing, don't you make
out? your interest and your duty. Why isn't it convincingly plain to you
that the thing to do with Nanda is just to marry her--and to marry her
soon? That's the great thing--do it while you CAN. If you don't want
her downstairs--at which, let me say, I don't in the least wonder--your
remedy is to take the right alternative. Don't send her to Tishy--"

"Send her to Mr. Mitchett?" Mrs. Brookenham unresentfully quavered. Her
colour, during her visitor's address had distinct