She ignored Mrs. Presty's irony with a composure worthy of Mrs.
Presty herself. "Where is the woman," she said, "who would _not_
wish to be as beautiful as Mrs. Linley--and as good?"

"Thank you, my dear, for a compliment to my daughter: a sincere
compliment, no doubt. It comes in very neatly and nicely," Mrs.
Presty acknowledged, "after my son-in-law's little outbreak of
temper. My poor Herbert, when will you understand that I mean no
harm? I am an essentially humorous person; my wonderful spirits
are always carrying me away. I do assure you, Miss Westerfield, I
don't know what worry is. My troubles--deaths in the family, and
that sort of thing--seem to slip off me in a most remarkable
manner. Poor Mr. Norman used to attribute it to my excellent
digestion. My second husband would never hear of such an
explanation as that. His high ideal of women shrank from
allusions to stomachs. He used to speak so nicely (quoting some
poet) of the sunshine of my breast. Vague, perhaps," said Mrs.
Presty, modestly looking down at the ample prospect of a personal
nature which presented itself below her throat, "but so
flattering to one's feelings. There's the luncheon bell again, I
declare! I'll run on before and tell them you are coming. Some
people might say they wished to be punctual. I am truth itself,
and I own I don't like to be helped to the underside of the fish.
_Au revoir!_ Do you remember, Miss Westerfield, when I asked you
to repeat _au revoir_ as a specimen of your French? I didn't
think much of your accent. Oh, dear me, I didn't think much of
your accent!"

Kitty looked after her affluent grandmother with eyes that stared
respectfully in ignorant admiration. She pulled her father's