wonderfully good cook. In fact so excellent a cook was Mrs. Tribb, that
Garvington had frequently suggested she should come to The Manor. But,
so far, Lambert had managed to keep the little woman to himself. Mrs.
Tribb adored him, since she had known him from babyhood, and declined to
leave him under any circumstances. She thought Lambert the best man in
the world, and challenged the universe to find another so handsome and
clever, and so considerate.

"Dear me, my lady, is it yourself?" said Mrs. Tribb, throwing up her dry
little hands and dropping a dignified curtsey. "Well, I do call it good
of you to come and see Master Noel. He don't go out enough, and don't
take enough interest in his stomach, if your ladyship will pardon my
mentioning that part of him. But you don't know, my lady, what it is to
be a cook, and to see the dishes get cold, while he as should eat them
goes on painting, not but what Master Noel don't paint like an angel, as
I've said dozens of times."

While Mrs. Tribb ran on in this manner her lively black eyes twinkled
anxiously. She knew that her master and Lady Agnes had been, as she said
herself, "next door to engaged," and knew also that Lambert was fretting
over the match which had been brought about for the glorification of the
family. The housekeeper, therefore, wondered why Lady Agnes had come,
and asked herself whether it would not be wise to say that Master
Noel--from old associations, she always called Lambert by this juvenile
title--was not at home. But she banished the thought as unworthy, the
moment it entered her active brain, and with another curtsey in response
to the visitor's greeting, she conducted her to the studio. "Them two
angels will never do no wrong, anyhow," was Mrs. Tribb's reflection, as
she closed the door and left the pair together. "But I do hope as that
black-faced husband won't ever learn. He's as jealous as Cain, and I