Gerda, having removed Mrs. Torp’s tasselled cloak, sat her plumb-down at the table, straightening with a familiarly affectionate jerk the ribboned bonnet which adorned her head.

“Don’t ’ee fidget wi’ me old hat, Gerdie,” murmured the visitor. “ ’Tis a very good hat, though maybe ’tain’t as aleet as some folks can afford. So thee be Mr. Solent’s mummy, be ’ee? Well, and ’a favour’n about the cheeks, ’sknow! A body could reason there was some blood twixt ye; though in these which-way times ’tis hard to speak for sure.”

“Well, we must do our best not to quarrel, Mrs. Torp, as they say all mothers do,” threw out Mrs. Solent briskly, watching with some anxiety the unusual amount of sugar that Gerda was placing at the bottom of all the teacups.