The elder, evidently the mistress of the mansion, is reading a newspaper; the younger is dividing her time between needlework and looking rather discontentedly out of the window.
It is quite evident the two are not mother and child.

There is not the slightest trace of resemblance between the handsome aquiline face of the elder, stylishly-dressed woman, and the rounder and more sensitive face of her quietly-attired companion.

Nor is there much in common between the frank eyes and mock-demure mouth of the girl, and the half- imperious, half-worried look of her senior.
"Tell Mr Rimbolt, Walker," says the mistress, as she puts down her paper, and moves her chair up to the tea-table, "and Master Percy." A handsome gentleman, just turning grey, with an intellectual and good- humoured face, strolls into the room in response to Walker's summons.
"I was positively nearly asleep," he says; "the library gets more than its share of the afternoon sun." "It would be better for you, dear, if you took a drive or a walk, instead of shutting yourself up with your old books." The gentleman laughs pleasantly, and puts some sugar in his tea.
"You are not very respectful to my old friends," said he.

"You forget how long we've been parted.

Where's Percy ?" "Walker has gone to tell him." "I think he is out," said the young lady; "he told me he was going down to the river." "I consider," said Mrs Rimbolt rather severely, "he should tell _me_ what he is going to do, not you." "But, aunt, I didn't ask him.