"I would prefer to leave it to Mr. Winston," answered Melcomb. "He has some strange theory about colours, that they are in the eyes of the seer and not in the seen. It is dangerous to speak after such an authority. Your best referee is at home, Mrs. Winston."
"Not so," said the lady, "for he is one of the disputants. One said blue, another grey. None agreed. Some one suggested a reference to you, and it was voted unanimously. 'He knows the colour of all the eyes at the opera,' they said."
"No one can mistake that of Mrs. Winston's," Melcomb said, rising and bowing. "My dear Mrs. Pendarrel, suffer me to take my leave."
"Now, Mildred dear, away and make ready," said Gertrude, smiling, and her sister immediately complied with the wish.
"Mrs. Winston!" exclaimed the mother.
"Yes, dear mamma," Gertrude answered.
"Am I the mistress of my own house?"
"I presume so, dear mamma."
"Then note me. My visitors shall not be affronted here by you."
"Surely, mamma, Mr. Melcomb would thank me for a compliment. Every one knows he is proud of his reputation."