‘My word, won’t she have a blow out of mince pies,’ exclaimed the youthful Adolphus, who, from being somewhat restricted as to the good things of this life, was apt to take a material view of pleasure. ‘Bella doesn’t care twopence for mince pies,’ said Clementina. ‘She likes dresses and bonnets. She would live on bread and water for a month for the sake of a pretty dress.’ Bella herself was not enthusiastic about the invitation to the Water House. ‘I don’t see how I can go, papa,’ she said. ‘Mrs. Piper wants me to look after the housekeeping, and to see to the children’s early dinner. Mr. Piper hates carving for so many.’ ‘Mrs. Piper must do without you. She’ll know your value all the better if she loses your services for a week or two.’ ‘You ought not to refuse such an invitation, Bella,’ said Mrs. Scratchell. ‘Christmas time and all--Mr. Harefield will be sure to give you a handsome present.’ ‘I might run across to the Park every morning, perhaps, even if I were staying at the Water House,’ Bella suggested presently. She had been thinking deeply for the last few minutes. ‘Of course, you might,’ answered her father. ‘It’s not ten minutes’ walk, through the fields.’ So Mr. Harefield’s letter was answered to the effect that Bella would be delighted to stay with her dear Miss Harefield, and would be with her that evening. And all day long there was a grand starching and ironing of cuffs, collars, and petticoats, at which the younger Miss Scratchells assisted. ‘I shall find out all about Cyril,’ thought Bella. ‘What a secret nature Beatrix must have to be able to hide every thing from me so long. I have seen her look shy and strange when she met him, and have half-suspected--but I could not think that if she really cared for him she would hide it from me.’ Bella and her worldly goods arrived at the Water House after dark on that December evening--Bella walking, under the escort of her brother Herbert, the worldly goods accompanying her in a wheelbarrow. Bella found Beatrix alone in the upstairs sitting-room, which had been called the schoolroom ever since Miss Scales had been paramount at the Water House. It was a large panelled room, with old oak furniture of the Dutch school that had been there since the days of William and Mary; old blue and white Delft jars, and old pictures that nobody ever looked at; a high carved oak mantel piece, with a shelf just wide enough to carry the tiny teacups of the Queen Anne period; an old-fashioned fireplace, set round with blue and white tiles; a sombre Turkey carpet, with a good deal of yellow in it; and thick woollen curtains of a curious flowered stuff. To Bella it was simply one of the handsomest rooms in the world, and she felt angry with Beatrix for her want of gratitude to a Providence that had set her in the midst of such surroundings.