When Lady Benyon's carriage stopped at the door, Uncle James stood bareheaded on the steps, ready to receive her.
"So glad to see you, mamma," he lisped, as he handed her out. "Do take my arm."
But the little old lady waved him aside unceremoniously, and hobbled in with the brisk stiffness of age.
"Gracious!" she exclaimed when she saw the party arranged in the drawing-room. "You all look as if you were having your likeness taken—all except Puck there, on the piano-stool."
When Uncle James had manœuvred Lady Benyon into the seat of honour he intended her to take in order to complete the picture, she frankly inspected each member of the group, ending with Beth.
"And who may you be?" she asked.
Beth smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
"Why don't you speak?"
Beth made another gesture.
"Goodness!" Lady Benyon cried; "is the child an idiot?"