Calamity nearly overtook the muffin of Daughter-in- law. Happily it stopped at very nearly.
"The little picture opposite, Lady Shelmerdine. But you can't really see it now the sun has got round to the west."
Mother had to examine the gem, of course, like any other art critic. Glasses did great execution. Which was the Whistler? Ah, yes, to be sure, the name of the artist. An artist with a name so original was bound to be rated highly. A present from Sir Herbert Forrest, the famous actor-manager. Yes, Mother had seen him as the Woodman in Twelfth Night. How interesting to have such a memento from such a famous man. And how well you could see the park. And she did hope it was not too expensive. And everything in such good taste, although yellow for a wall-paper was a rather modern color. And such delicious tea. And what charming cups. A present from Mr. Vandeleur. How kind—a memento, of course, of his respect and admiration for dear Phil-ipp's father.
"It didn't say so on the card, though, Mater," said dear Phil-ipp with a clumsiness for which, perhaps, he is to be forgiven. "It said on the card, 'To Cinderella, from a Humble Admirer who wishes her every happiness.'"
