If Mrs. Churchill had been the Empress of Austria or the Queen of the Cannibal Islands, she could not have entered the room more haughtily, or created a greater effect. She was dressed in a plain dark-gray silk, with a bunch of scarlet geraniums in her hair, and a black-lace shawl over her shoulders. Her little head was erect, her delicate nostrils distended, and her eye seemed to challenge any unpleasant remark. Frank Churchill was, as usual, quiet and sedate; but it was evident he marked the impression which his wife made, and was pleased thereby. Was he pleased with the expression of her face, as he marked it contracted for an instant, though immediately afterwards the features resumed their calm statuesque immobility? Was he pleased with the tone of her voice, which became a little hard and metallic, instead of that soft whispering which he knew as hers? Barbara's trial was on her at that instant: she had returned to that society in which she had all her life lived; those luxuries, which had been in daily use, were around her, after she had been for weeks absent from them; the mere size of the rooms, the lighting, the perfume, the presence of guests,--all seemed to render the events of the past months as a dream; and she had to bring her presence of mind into play to argue with herself. Mrs. Schröder rushed up to her at once; no doubt of the _empressement_ of her manner! affection a little too palpable, as Barbara thought. "Oh, Barbara darling! so glad you're come! I thought you'd disappointed us. How late you are!" "Frank was detained; as I expected, Alice; make him explain himself." "No occasion for that, I hope? Mrs. Schröder," said Churchill; "the slaves of the lamp, you know!" "Oh, there! that horrible business! your constant excuse; you're all alike. Gustav! Gustav! here's Mr. Churchill excusing himself from being late, and pleads business; take him away, and discuss the wretched subject together. I want to talk to Barbara,--a long talk. No, Gustav! I don't care what you say about my duties as hostess: I _will_ talk to my old friend!" So Schröder and Churchill went off, and Alice and Barbara seated themselves in a far window. "Now, Barbara dear, tell me every thing. I needn't ask you if you're happy; that's a matter of course. Do you like your house? Is the boudoir in pale-green silk, as we always said we'd have it? Mine's in rose-colour; but that's Gustav's taste; I always liked your notion best." "My boudoir, Alice? you forget." "Oh, so I do. How ridiculous! But look here, Barbara darling; you'll come out for a drive with me whenever I fetch you?" "Oh, thanks, Alice; I'm too far out of your way to be fetched often." "Not a bit, Barbara; what else have the horses to do? though it is a difficult place to find out. Edwards--the coachman, I mean--had never heard of it, though he knows all sorts of short cuts; and we had to ask our way perpetually."