“My dear one, that is so far off.  Go now, and write to Arenta.  Young Mr. Hyde and Figaro will doubtless bring her here.”

“I hope so; for Arenta has an agreeableness that fits every occasion.”  She had been folding up, with deliberate neatness, the strings of her bonnet, as she talked, and she rose with these words and went out of the parlour; but she went slowly, with a kind of hesitation, as if something had been left unsaid.

About six o’clock Arenta Van Ariens made a personal response to her friend’s message.  She was all excitement and expectation.  “What a delightful surprise!” she cried.  “To-day has been a day to be praised.  It has ticked itself away to wonders and astonishments.  Who do you think called on me this afternoon?”

“Tell me plainly, Arenta.  I never could guess for an answer.”

“No less a person than Madame Kippon.  Gertrude Kippon is going to be married!  She is going to marry a French count!  And madame is beside herself with the great alliance.”

“I heard my father say that Madame Kippon had ‘the French disease’ in a dangerous form.”

“Indeed, that is certain.  She has put the Sabbath day out of her calendar; and her daughter’s marriage is to be a legal one only.  I wonder what good Dr. Kunz will say to that!  As for me, I lost all patience with madame’s rigmarole of philosophies—­for I am not inclined to philosophy—­and indeed I had some difficulty to keep my temper; you know that it is occasionally quite unmanageable.”

Cornelia smiled understandingly, and answered with a smile, “I hope, however, that you did not put her to death, Arenta.”

“I have, at least, buried her, as far as I am concerned.  And my father says I am not to go to the marriage; that I am not even to drink a cup of tea with her again.  If my father had been at home—­or even Rem—­she would not have left our house with all her colours flying; but I am good-natured, I have no tongue worth speaking of.”

“Come, come, Arenta!  I shall be indeed astonished if you did not say one or two provoking words.”

“I said only three, Cornelia.  When madame finally declared—­’she really must go home,’ I did answer, as sweetly as possible, ’Thank you, madame!’ That was something I could say with becoming politeness.”

Cornelia was tying the scarlet ribbon which held back her flowing hair, but she turned and looked at Arenta, and asked, “Did madame boast any afterwards?”

“No; she went away very modestly, and I was not sorry to see the angry surprise on her face.  Gertrude Kippon a countess!  Only imagine it!  Well, then, I have no doubt the Frenchman will make of Gertrude—­whatever can be made of her.”

“Our drawing-rooms, and even our streets, are full of titles,” said Cornelia; “I think it is a distinction to be plain master and mistress.”

“That is the truth; even this handsome dandy, Joris Hyde, is a lieutenant.”