ir Tom her left hand in passing, and then she turned with both
extended to Lucy. "So this is the little wife," she said. She did not
pause for the modest little word of welcome which Lucy had prepared. She
drew her into the light, and gazed at her with benignant but dauntless
inspection, taking in, Lucy felt sure, every particular of her
appearance--the something too much of the blue gown, the deficiency of
dignity, the insignificance of the smooth fair locks, and open if
somewhat anxious countenance. "_Bel enfant_," said the Contessa, "your
husband and I are such old friends that I cannot meet you as a stranger.
You must let me kiss you, and accept me as one of yours too." The
salutation that followed made Lucy's heart jump with mingled pleasure
and distaste. She was swallowed up altogether in that embrace. When it
was over, the lady turned from her to Sir Tom without another word. "I
congratulate you, _mon ami_. Candour itself, and sweetness, and every
English quality"--upon which she proceeded to seat herself in the chair
which Lucy had set for her in the afternoon with the screen and the
footstool. "How thoughtful some one has been for my comfort," she said,
sinking into it, and distributing a gracious smile all round. There was
something in the way in which she seized the central place in the scene,
and made all the others look like surroundings which bewildered Lucy,
who did nothing but gaze, forgetting everything she meant to say, and
even that it was she who was the mistress of the house.

"You do not see my aunt, Contessa," said Sir Tom, "and yet I think you
ought to know each other."

"Your aunt," said the Contessa, looking round, "that dear Lady
Randolph--who is now Dowager. Chere dame!" she added, half rising,
holding out again both hands.

Lady Randolph the elder knew the world better than Lucy. She remained in
the background into which the Contessa was looking with eyes which she
called shortsighted. "How do you do, Madame di Forno-Populo!" she said.
"It is a long time since we met. We have both grown older since that
period. I hope you have recovered from your fatigue."

The Contessa sank back again into her chair. "Ah, _both_, yes!" she
said, with an eloquent movement of her hands. At this Sir Tom gave vent
to a faint chuckle, as if he could not contain himself any longer.

"The passage of time is a myth," he said; "it is a fable; it goes the
other way. To look at you----"

"Both!" said the Contess