not keep open house, and hers was not by any means casual
hospitality. She hated anyone to call upon her unexpected and uninvited,
except on the first and third Thursday of every month. She was very much
surprised that in the rush of the present day people had a way of
forgetting these days and calling on others. The first Thursday was
peculiarly ill-treated and ignored, and preparations on that day were
often wasted, while on the second Thursday she would come home and find
a quantity of cards, belonging to more or less smart, if dull, people
who had left them, with a sigh of relief at their mistake.

Lady Kellynch was good-natured in a cold kind of way, and even lavish;
yet she had her queer, petty economies, and was always talking about a
mysterious feat that she spoke of as _keeping the books down_, and was
also fond of discovering tiny little dressmakers who used to be with
some celebrated one and had now set up for themselves.

Lady Kellynch was very kind to these little dressmakers--she spoke of
them as if they were minute to the point of being midgets or
dwarfs--she was really rather the curse of their lives, and after a
while they would have been glad to dispense with her custom. She wanted
them to do impossibilities, such as making her look exactly as she did
at Queen Victoria's first Jubilee (the time when she was so much admired
and had such a success), and yet making her look up-to-date now, without
any of the horrid fast modern style.

When Clifford was at home things were considerably turned upside down,
and when the time of his holidays drew to an end she was conscious of
being relieved.

It was the first Thursday, and Lady Kellynch was at home. A day or two
before Clifford had spent a day with Pickering and his mother. She had
told him he might ask the boy to tea.

"Mother," said Clifford, who had received a note, "Pickering can't come
to-day."

"Oh, indeed--what a pity."

She was really rather glad. Boys at an At Home were a bore and ate all
the cake.

"Er--no--he can't come. But, I say, you won't mind, will you?--his
mother's coming."

"His mother!" exclaimed Lady Kellynch, rather surprised.

"Er--yes--I asked her. I thought, perhaps, you wouldn't mind. She wants
to know you."

"Really? It's very kind of her, I'm sure."

"You see, in a way, though she's awfully rich--I suppose she's a bit of
a--you know what I mean--a sort of a _nouveau riche_. She wants to visit
a few decent people, e