ight, you, are,
wrong!" all day.

"Suppose you were to come round and see her now!"

"Should I have time? Yes, I think I should. Just time to smoke this in
peace and quiet, and then we'll pay her a visit. Mustn't be a long one."

* * * * *

The day had lost its beauty, and the wind in the trees and the chimneys
was inconsolable about the loss, when Gwen said to the old
woman:--"Here's my father, come to pay you a visit, Mrs. Picture."
Thereon the Earl said:--"Don't wake her up, Gwennie." But to this she
said:--"She isn't really asleep. She goes off like this." And he
said:--"Old people do."

Her soft hand roused the old lady as gently as anything effectual could.
And then Mrs. Picture said:--"I heard you come in, my dear." And, when
Gwen repeated that her father had come, became alive to the necessity of
acknowledging him, and had to give up the effort, being told to sit
still.

"You had such a long drive, you see," said Gwen. "It has quite
worn you out. It was my fault, and I'm sorry." Then, relying on
inaudibility:--"It makes her seem so old. She was quite young when we
started off this morning."

"Young folks," said his lordship, "never believe in old bones, until
they feel them inside, and then they are not young folks any longer.
Why--where did we drive to, to knock ourselves up so? What's her
name--Picture?" He was incredulous, evidently, about such a name being
possible. But there was a sort of graciousness, or goodwill, about his
oblique speech in the first person plural, that more than outweighed
abruptness in his question about her.

She rallied under her visitor's geniality--or his emphasis, as might be.
"Maisie Prichard, my lord," said she, quite clearly. Her designation for
him showed she was broad awake now, and took in the position. She could
answer his question, repeated:--"And where _did_ we drive?" by
saying:--"A beautiful drive, but I've a poor head now for names." She
tried recollection, failed, and gave it up.

"Chorlton-under-Bradbury?" said the Earl.

"We went there too. I know Chorlton quite well, of course. The other
one!--where the clock was." Gwen supplied the name, a singular one,
Chernoweth; and the Earl said:--"Oh yes--Chernoweth. A pretty place. But
why 'Chorlton quite well, of course'?"

Gwen explained. "Because of the small boy, Dave. Don't you know,
papa?--I told you Mrs. Picture has directed no end of letters to
Chorlton, for Dave." The Ear