"I suppose she did," said Paul.

"She is well? Your mother, the stately lady?"

"Very well--do you know her?" he asked, surprised.

"Long ago I have seen her, and I knew you at once, so like you
are--and to your uncles, especially the Lord Hubert."

"Uncle Hubert is a rotter!"

"A--rotter?" inquired the lady. "And what is that?" And she smiled a
divine smile.

Paul felt ashamed. "Oh! well, it _is_ a rotter, you know--that
_is_--like Uncle Hubert, I mean."

She laughed again. "You do not explain well, but I understand you. And
so you only resemble the Uncle Hubert on the outside--that is good."

Paul felt jealous. Lord Hubert Aldringham's reputation--for some
things--was European. "I hope so," he said with emphasis. "And you
knew him well then, too?"

"I never said so," replied the lady. "I saw him once--twice
perhaps--years ago--at the marriage of a princess. There, it has made
you frown, we will speak no more of the Uncle Hubert!" and she leant
back and laughed.