returned Nan, carelessly. "Mother has got her old silk,
but for her it does not so much matter; at least that is what she
says."

"And she is quite right. She is always real splendid, as the Yankees
say, whatever she wears," returned Dick, wishing secretly that his
mother in her new satin dress looked half so well as Mrs. Challoner in
her old one. But it was no use. Mrs. Mayne never set off her handsome
dresses; with her flushed, good-natured face and homely ways, she
showed to marked disadvantage beside Mrs. Challoner's faded beauty.
Mrs. Challoner's gown might be antique, but nothing could surpass the
quiet grace of her carriage, or the low pleasant modulations of her
voice. Her figure was almost as slim as her daughters', and she could
easily have passed for their elder sister.

Lady Fitzroy, who was a Burgoyne by birth,--and every one knows that
for haughtiness and a certain exclusive intoleration none could match
the Burgoynes,--always distinguished Mrs. Challoner by the marked
attention she paid her.

"A very lady-like woman, Percival. Certainly the most lady-like person
in the neighborhood," she would say to her husband, who was not quite
so exclusive, and always made himself pleasant to his neighbors; and
she would ask very graciously after her brother-in-law, Sir Francis
Challoner. "He is still in India, I suppose?"

"Oh, yes; he is still in India," Mrs. Challoner would reply, rather
curtly. She had not the faintest interest in her husband's brother,
whom she had never seen more than twice in her life, and who was
understood to be small credit to his family. The aforesaid Sir Francis
Challoner had been the poorest of English baronets. His property had
dwindled down until it consisted simply of a half ruined residence in
the north of England.

In his young days Sir Francis had been a prodigal, and, like the
prodigal in the parable, he had betaken himself into far countries,
not to waste his substance, for he had none, but if possible to glean
some of the Eastern riches.

Whether he had been successful or not Mrs. Challoner hardly knew. That
he had married and settled in Calcutta,--that he had a son named
Harry, who had once written to her in round hand and subscribed
himself as her affectionate nephew, Henry Ford Challoner--this she
knew; but what manner of person Lady Challoner might be, or what sort
of home her brother-in-law had made for himself, those points were
enveloped in mystery.

"I suppose s