And so one evening, as Camilla was dressing for an early dinner engagement, there came a knock at her door, and Dennis asked if she would see Miss Graniger. Mrs. Lancing was sitting in front of her looking-glass, her short, wavy hair was loose on her shoulders. At sight of Caroline she took alarm, and, turning round, waved her hair-brush protestingly. "Don't tell me that you have come to give me notice," she said forcibly, "because I won't take it!" Caroline laughed. "I am still marvelling at my good fortune at being with you," she said. She looked admiringly at Camilla. How pretty! how very pretty this woman was! Each time that she saw Mrs. Lancing she seemed to see her in a more attractive way. Now, in her white flowing gown, with her curly hair falling about her face, she looked hardly older than little Betty herself. There was an unconscious wistfulness in Camilla Lancing's eyes that waked a strong rush of tenderness and protective affection in Caroline's heart whenever she looked into them. Brief as had been her stay in the house, she had been long enough to know from other sources than Dennis's confidences that trouble stalked side by side with the gaiety; long enough to have grasped with that intuition which was one of her strongest gifts that this charming, childlike, happy-go-lucky mistress of the house would always buy her sunshine very dearly, with a heavy shadow threatening it. Camilla heaved a sigh of relief. "I breathe again," she said; "sit down and let me look at you. Well, you are better, I think; you have a nice little bit of colour, but you must get much, much fatter. Are the chickies asleep? Dear child, I must congratulate you! You are a marvellous person. We have never had such peace in the house as we have had since you have been here--have we, Dennis? And you are such a child yourself! How is this sort of thing done? I suppose it comes naturally to you." "I am so glad you are satisfied with me," Caroline said. She sat down and looked about her curiously, and yet with pleasure. The dainty appointments, the rosebud chintz, the lace-covered bed, upon which was spread the gown Mrs. Lancing was going to wear, the crystal-topped toilet table with its burden of brushes, and jars, and scent-bottles, and nicknacks, the cosy chairs, the soft carpet, all made a picture of prettiness, luxury, and comfort such as had not even visioned itself in her imagination, busy as that had been at times. Portraits of the children abounded, and in the middle of the mantelshelf Caroline noticed a large cabinet photograph of Edward Lancing. The children had a smaller one like it in the nursery. Betty kissed it every night after she had said her prayers, and Baby, of course, always clamoured for daddy's picture to do the same thing. Although, as Betty said frequently, "You never knowed him, so he isn't properly your daddy." Caroline brought her wandering attention to order sharply. "I have come to bother you," she said.