Chris caught a frown from the other housemaid, intimating that this information was not wanted. Then the second housemaid having said she would bring them some hot water, the ladies were left to themselves. Chris, tired as she was, spent the next ten minutes alternately in an ecstacy of high spirits, and a fit of deep depression; the former the result of her delight in her surroundings, the latter the effect of her belief that she would soon have to leave them. “I wonder why he ordered our room to be changed?” she whispered to her mother, as she admired in turn the handsome brass bedstead, with its spread of silk and lace, the rosewood furniture, the little lady’s writing-table, the cosy sofa and easy-chair. “Have we been sent up or sent down? If we have been sent up, the bedroom in the wing must have been gorgeous indeed. Mother, this bed is too magnificent to sleep in; and as for the so-called dressing-room next door,” and she peeped through a door which communicated with a second and rather smaller room, “it is a cross between a museum and a palatial boudoir.” Mrs. Abercarne, of course, took these marvels more quietly. She understood quite well that she was in an exceptionally beautiful and well-fitted house; but she did not care to acknowledge that it was anything out of the common to her. The ingenuous delight of Chris, therefore, rather annoyed her, so that at last the girl had to become apologetic. “You know, mother,” she whispered humbly, “I have never seen anything so beautiful in all my life as this place and I can’t help noticing it. You see, you were well-off once, and used to beautiful houses. But you know that to me everything seems new and wonderful.” And Mrs. Abercarne repented of her petulant rebuke, remembering, with tears in her eyes, that Chris had had indeed very little experience of luxury. They had been told that dinner would be ready in a few minutes, so Chris opened the door a little way, waiting for a further announcement to be made to them. At the opposite side of the corridor, and a little nearer than their door to the very end of it, a maidservant was coming in and out of another door. A few steps further down the maid was met by the footman with a tray. He began to express his feelings in tones which reached the ears of Chris. “Well, this is a rum start!” he said confidentially to the housemaid as he passed her. “Everything was ready for two in the housekeeper’s room; but now it seems that the basement isn’t good enough, and we’re to dine upstairs like the quality.” “Hold your tongue,” whispered the girl, laughing. “Be a good boy, and you will see what you will see.” And she tripped past him, and left him to go on his way along the corridor. Chris did not repeat to her mother the scrap of conversation she had overheard; but it increased her own feelings of curiosity and bewilderment. “Do you think Mr. Bradfield will dine with us, mother?” she asked, as she softly closed the door.