They ascended to the Cedar drawing-room, one of the grandest rooms in
the house, all gilding and ormolu, and magnificent upholstery--Master
Baby following in the arms of his nurse. The sweet face and soft eyes
of Lady Catheron had done their work already in the ranks of the
servants--she would be an easier mistress to serve than Miss Inez.

"If she ever _is_ mistress in her own house," thought Mrs. Marsh,
who was "companion" to Miss Catheron as well as housekeeper; "and
mistress she never will be while Miss Catheron is at the Royals."

The drawing-room was brilliantly lit, and standing in the full glare
of the lamps--Inez. She was gorgeous this evening in maize silk, that
was like woven sunshine; she had a white camelia in her hair, a
diamond cross on her breast, scented laces about her, diamonds on her
arms and in her ears. So she stood--a resplendent vision--so Sir
Victor beheld her again.

He put up his hand for an instant like one who is dazzled--then he led
forward his wife, as men have led on a forlorn hope.

"My cousin," he said, "my wife; Inez, this is Ethel."

There was a certain pathos in the simplicity of the words, in the tone
of his voice, in the look of his eyes. And as some _very_ uplifted
young empress might bow to the lowliest of her handmaidens, Miss
Catheron bowed to Lady Catheron.

"Ethel," she repeated, a smile on her lips, "a pretty name, and a
pretty face. I congratulate you on your taste, Victor. And this is the
baby--I must look at him."