martyr. The fact is, she was well
aware that this was a case of _quid pro quo_; and that Gwen was
entitled, by treaty, to a perfect Saturnalia of sweet-hearting till
after Christmas, in exchange for the six months of penal servitude to
follow. But she preferred to indicate that the terms of the treaty had
disappointed her.

"Quite uncertain," said Gwen. "I shall stop till Thursday, anyhow. And
Adrian and Irene are to come here on Christmas Eve. I suppose they'll
have to share the paternal plum-pudding on Christmas Day. That can't be
helped. And I shall have to be here. _That_ can't be helped either. _I_
think it a pity the whole clan-jamfray shouldn't come here for
Christmas."

"That is out of the question. Sir Hamilton has his own social
obligations. Besides, it would look as if you and Mr. Torrens were
definitely engaged. Which you are not."

"Suppose we talk of something else."

"Suppose we do." Her ladyship could only assent; for had she not,
Shylockwise, taught her daughter that word?

The agreement that another topic should be resorted to was sufficiently
complied with by a short pause before resuming the antecedent one. Gwen
did this by saying:--"You will be all right without me for a few days,
because Sir Spencer Derrick and his wife are due to-night, and the
Openshaws, and the Pellews will be here on Monday."

"Gwendolen!" In a shocked tone of voice.

"Well--Aunt C. and Cousin Percy, then. If they are not the Pellews, they
very soon will be. They are coming on Monday, anyhow."

"But not by the same train!"

"_I_ should come by the same train, if I were they. And in the same
carriage. And tip the guard to keep everybody else out. Much better do
it candidly than pretend they've met by accident. _I_ should."

The Countess thought she really _had_ better change to another subject.
She dropped this one as far off as possible. "When do you expect to see
your two old interesting twins again?" said she conciliatorily. For she
felt that reasoning with her beautiful but irregular daughter was
hopeless. The young lady explained that her next visit to Chorlton would
be by way of an expedition from Pensham. Adrian and Irene would drive
her over. It was not morally much farther from Pensham than from the
Towers, although some arithmetical appearances were against it. And she
particularly wanted Adrian to see old Mrs. Picture. And then, like a
sudden sad cadence in music, came the thought:--"But he cannot see old