Though her eldest son was
thirty, she was, herself, still little more than fifty. From her voice,
manner, and whole personality, one might suspect that she had been an
acknowledged beauty; but there was now more than a suspicion of
maturity about her almost jovial face, with its full grey-blue eyes;
and coarsened complexion. Good comrade, and essentially 'woman of the
world,' was written on every line of her, and in every tone of her
voice. She was indeed a figure suggestive of open air and generous
living, endowed with abundant energy, and not devoid of humour. It was
she who answered Agatha's remark.
"Of course, my dear, the very best thing possible."
Lord Harbinger chimed in:
"By the way, Brabrook's going to speak on it. Did you ever hear him,
Lady Agatha? 'Mr. Speaker, Sir, I rise--and with me rises the democratic
principle----'"
But Agatha only smiled, for she was thinking:
"If I let Ann go as far as the gate, she'll only make it a
stepping-stone to something else to-morrow." Taking no interest in
public affairs, her inherited craving for command had resorted for
expression to a meticulous ordering of household matters. It was
indeed a cult with her, a passion--as though she felt herself a sort of
figurehead to national domesticity; the leader of a patriotic movement.
Lord Valleys, having finished what seemed necessary, arose.
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