prettiness matters, beside the other thing!--the indefinable,
irresistible something--which gives the sceptre and the crown! All the
time she was listening to Mrs. Penfold's chatter, and the daughter's
occasional words, Victoria Tatham was on the watch for this something;
and not without jealousy and a critical mind. She had been taken by
surprise; and she resented it.

Harry was very long in coming back!--in order she supposed to give her
time to make acquaintance.

But at last she had them at the tea-table, and Mrs. Penfold's adjectives
were a little quenched. Each side considered the other. Lady Tatham's
dress, her old hat, and country shoes attracted Lydia, no less than the
boyish, open-air look, which still survived through all the signs of a
complex life and a cosmopolitan experience. Mrs. Penfold, on her part,
thought the old hat, and the square-toed shoes "unsuitable." In her young
days great ladies "dressed" in the afternoons.

"Do you like your cottage?" Lady Tatham inquired.

Mrs. Penfold replied that nothing could be more to their taste--except
for the motors and the dust.

"Ah! that's my fault," said a voice behind her. "All motorists are
brutes. I say, it was jolly of you to come!"

So saying, Tatham found a place between his mother and Mrs. Penfold,
looking across at Lydia. Youth, happiness, manly strength came in with
him. He had no features to speak of--round cheeks, a mouth generally
slightly open, and given to smiling, a clear brow, a red and white