But when she reached the castle and was passed with mocking ceremony from servant to servant, the anxious questions died on her lips; and when she was ushered, at length, into a vast bedchamber, hung with green silk, gold fringed, and was greeted by Lady Julia, all in green herself, like a mermaid, smiling sweetly at her from between her pale ringlets, she was so bewildered that she forgot even to courtesy. She never heeded how the tire-woman, who had last received her, tittered as she closed the door. “A fair morning to you, mistress,” said Lady Julia. “I am sensible of your kindness in coming to my hasty invitation.” “Madam,” faltered Pomona, and remembered her _révérence_; “I am ever at your service, honorable madam. I hope my lord is not sick again.” “My father?” mocked the mermaid, running her white hand through her curls. But Pomona neither understood nor practiced the wiles of women. “I meant my Lord Blantyre,” said she. “Oh, the lord earl, your patient; nay, it goes better with him. Oh, he has been sadly, sadly. We have had a sore and anxious time; such a wound as his, neglected----” she shook her ringlets. Pomona’s lip suddenly trembled, she caught it between her teeth to steady it. “Ah,” said Julia, interrupting herself and turning on her chair, “here comes the Lady Alethea.” Alethea entered, mincing on high-heeled shoes, her cherry lips pursed, her dark eyes dancing, as if a pair of mischievous sprites had taken lodging there. She gazed at Pomona, so large, so work-stained, so incongruous a figure in the bright, luxurious room. Her nostrils dilated. She looked as wicked as a kid. “My brother,” said she, addressing her friend, though she kept staring at Pomona, “has heard of this wench’s arrival. He would speak with her.” “I will go with you, even now,” said Pomona. Both the ladies shrieked; so did the maid who had followed Lady Alethea into the room. “My good creature! In that attire?” “My brother, so fastidious, so suffering!” “And she,” cried the tire-woman, taking up the note, “still with the stench of the saucepan about her! Positively, madam, the room reeks.” If Pomona carried any savors beyond those of lavender and the herbs she loved, it was of good sweet apples and fragrant burnt sugar. But she stood in her humiliation, and felt herself more unfit for all the high company than the beasts of her farmyard. “You must not take it unkindly, child,” said Lady Julia, with her cruel little laugh and her soft voice, “but my Lord Blantyre, you see, hath ever a great distaste of all that is homely and uncomely. He hath suffered extraordinarily in that respect of late. We must humor him.” Truly Pomona was punished. She marveled now at herself, remembering what her presumption had been. “I will go home, madam, if you permit me.”