n't talk about them to papa, because
he's supposed to know nothing about such things. But really--one's own
mother!"

"Well--at least don't talk so before the person.... She's coming
back--_sh!_"

"My dear mamma, she's got six children of her own, so how could it
matter? Besides, she's French." That is to say, an Anglo-Grundy would
have no jurisdiction.

The dazzling ball-dress, which the Countess had professedly climbed all
those stairs to see tried on, having been disposed of satisfactorily,
and carried away for finishing touches, her ladyship showed a
disposition to remain and talk to her daughter. These two were on very
good terms, in spite of the occasional strain which was put upon their
relations by the audacity of the daughter's flights in the face of her
old-fashioned mother's code of proprieties.

As soon as normal conditions had been re-established, and Miss Lutwyche,
an essential to the trying on, had died respectfully away, her ladyship
settled down to a chat.

"I've really hardly seen you, child, since you came tearing up from
Rocester in that frantic way in the middle of the night. It's always the
same in town, an absolute rush. And the way one has to mind one's _P_'s
and _Q_'s is trying to the last degree. If it was only Society, one
could see one's way. One can deal with Society, because there are rules.
But People are quite another thing.... Well, my dear, you may say they
are not, but look at Clotilda--there's a case in point! I assure you,
hardly a minute of the day passes but I feel I ought to do something.
But what? One may say it's her own fault, and so it no doubt is, in a
sense. No one is under any sort of obligation to go into these horrible
places, which the Authorities ought not to allow to exist. There ought
to be proper people to do this kind of thing, inoculated or something,
to be safe from infection.... But she _is_ going on all right?"

"They wouldn't let me see her this morning. But Dr. Dalrymple said there
was no complication, so far...."

"Oh, well, so long as there's no complication, that's all we can
expect." The Countess jumped at an excuse to breathe freely. But there
were other formidable contingencies. How about Constance and Cousin
Percy? "Yes--they've got to be got married, somehow," said her ladyship.
"It's impossible to shut one's eyes to it. I've been talking to
Constance about it, and what she says is certainly true. When one's
father has chronic gout, and one's