set.

"Very well," Lady Helena answered; "I will. You are to blame--not that
poor fair-haired child. I will speak to Inez; and, Victor, I will try
to forgive you for your mother's sake. Though you broke her heart she
would have forgiven you. I will try to do as she would have done--and
I like the little thing. You will not fail me on Thursday next? If
_I_ take up your wife all the neighborhood will, you may depend."

"We are not likely to fail. The invitation is like your kindness, Aunt
Helena. Thanks very much!"

His short-lived anger died away; he gave his hand frankly to his aunt.
She was his wife's friend--the only one who had taken the slightest
notice of her since her arrival. For the resident gentry had decided
that they couldn't--really couldn't--call upon the soap-boiler's
daughter.

Sir Victor Catheron had shocked and scandalized his order as it had
not been shocked and scandalized for half a century. A banker's
daughter, a brewer's daughter, they were prepared to accept--banking
and brewing are genteel sort of things. But a soap-boiler!--and married
in secret!--and a baby born in lodgings!--and Miss Catheron jilted in
cold blood!--Oh it was shameful!--shameful! No, they could not call
upon the new Lady Catheron--well, at least until they saw whether the
Lady Helena Powyss meant to take her up.

Lady Helena was the only sister of the young baronet's late mother,
with no children of her own, and very strongly attached to both Sir
Victor and Inez. His mother's dying desire had been that he should