“She is coming, my dear,” said Mary, looking anxiously at the girl. “Oh, she often looks like that,” said Dacre consolingly, “I believe she is mad—she is dying to squeal and screech and yet she is as quiet as an old rat, I believe myself one good roar would do her good.” Mary was a sensible body and knew when a thing was beyond her powers, she said nothing but went down and intercepted Mrs. Fellowes on her way to the drawing-room and carried her off. “Is Gwen well, Mary?” she asked, as they went upstairs. “Eats and sleeps well, ma’am, but she has an over-active brain, ma’am, I should say, and if ’tis, ’tis only God can help her,” whispered Mary solemnly. Gwen had recovered by this time and she and Dacre were engaged in a wrangle, stormy on Dacre’s side, sarcastic and calm on Gwen’s. At sight of Mrs. Fellowes they left off. “Oh you dear, you dear!” cried Gwen sweeping up to her, and taking her kiss with a sort of gasp, “we feel awful, as if some new horror was coming on.” “You’ll stand by us, Mrs. Fellowes? Do you think they might repent of Eton? Gwen gets mad when I say that, but, you know, no fellow knows what they’ll do next,” he added plaintively. “Dacre, I wonder if you know how horribly impertinent you are? If you belonged to me and spoke of me like that, I’d cut you for a week!” “Oh, but you’re quite different, of course no one would speak of you like that—Oh, come in!” A new footman, a tall awkward creature, who found his brains softening in this astonishing family, had been giving a succession of small knocks for the last five minutes, at last he supplemented them by a choking cough. “There is that giraffe,” said Gwen impatiently, “I suppose we are wanted! Mrs. Fellowes, look at him,” she whispered, “everybody who comes to this house looks like that in a week, and as for Mary, she is awful, going about in a muttering way and glaring at me as if I was a penny show. The tutors are the same, even that great leggy gawk—oh dear, what’s the matter with us all? “And another thing—oh, wait just a moment, they’ll never know if we’re one minute late or twenty, they don’t want us a bit, oh no, they never do, I tell you, they are quite happy and oh, so busy, so appallingly busy—I want to tell you another horrible habit the people here have. I must tell you all this,” she added seeing Dacre’s rather astonished face, “it has all just come up to the surface of me. The people in this place always whisper in the most diabolical way, there is never a single sound in these corridors, never, and that’s why I often nearly—burst to howl and screech. Dacre is an idiot as everyone knows, and he says I’m mad.” “Hush, child!” “Oh well, come on then, but there’s not an atom of hurry, they don’t want us.” “Mrs. Fellowes isn’t such an ass as not to know that,” said Dacre scornfully, “but I want to know what’s on in there, so does she, so come on.”