The servant entered with a long taper and began to light the candles. Miss Chressham answered with restraint.
"You have no head for business, Aunt Agatha."
The Countess of Lyndwood was standing by the mantelshelf. As the sconces either side were lit her delicate shoulders and pale lovely face were reflected in the dark depths of the mirror.
"No," she admitted; "after all, one can manage without it. I could never see it as a reproach, Susannah," she added.
Miss Chressham looked at her.
"Not if one is as pretty as you are," she answered, and smiled half sadly.
"Oh, fie, my dear! You must not flatter an old woman."
The Countess sank easily into a brocaded chair and her pearl-coloured satin dress gleamed in the candle-light. The lace over her faint blonde hair and over her shoulder seemed pearl-coloured too. She folded her silks away into a blue and silver bead-bag and when the servant had left the room she spoke again.
"You are so sensible, Susannah," she remarked in a tone of gentle helplessness; "such a comfort to me, my dear." She sighed, and rested her cheek on her long white fingers. "Rose is heedless, and I really know so little of what he does in London. Of course, I hear things"—she paused, and added placidly—"which, of course, are also no business of mine. But I do wish"—she gave Susannah an appealing look—"that he would come down and look after the place, and I wish he would marry."
"I dare swear he will do both," answered Miss Chressham cheerfully; "nay, it would be vastly strange if he did not."