Barbara appeared a trifle awkward, which was not her usual habit. She liked Mrs. Carruthers, as did the whole family. They had all been together constantly during the past few weeks, ever since the returned wanderer had come over to the Abbey to call, and had shown herself a fit person to be taken immediately into their critical and exclusive society. She had triumphantly passed the tests. She was beautiful and gay, laughed at the same sort of jokes as they did, and made them, liked the same sort of books, and saw people in the same sort of light. She was also warm-hearted and impulsive, and her liking for them was expressed with few or no reserves. It had been amply responded to by all except Barbara, who had held off a little, she could not have told why, and would not have admitted to a less degree of acceptance of their new friend than her sisters. Perhaps Ella Carruthers had divined the slight hesitation, for she had made more of Barbara than of Caroline or Beatrix, but had not yet dissolved it. As for the rest of them, they were always chanting her virtues and charm. For each of them she had something special. With Caroline she extolled a country existence, and didn't know how she could have kept away from her nice house and her lovely garden for so long. She was quite sincere in this. Caroline would soon have discovered it if she had been pretending. She did love her garden, and worked in it. And she led the right sort of life in her fine house, entertaining many guests, but never boring herself if they dwindled to one or two, nor allowing herself to be crowded out of her chosen pursuits. She read and sewed and played her piano, and was never found idle. Caroline and she were close friends. Beatrix had made a confidant of her, and had received much sympathy. But she had told her outright that she could not have expected her father to act otherwise than he had, and Beatrix had taken it from her, as she would not have taken it from any one else. Miss Waterhouse she treated as she was treated by her own beloved charges, with affection and respect disguised as impertinence. She was young enough and witty enough to be able to do so. Miss Waterhouse thought her position somewhat pathetic--a young girl in years, but with so much on her shoulders. She had come to think it admirable too, the way in which she fulfilled her responsibilities, which never seemed to be a burden on her. Her guardian, who was also her lawyer, advised her constantly and was frequently at Surley, but her bailiff depended on her in minor matters, and she was always accessible to her tenants, and beloved by them.