‘Have I?’ said the girl wistfully. Then she remembered that to talk of her private affairs and household circumstances with a stranger was a wonderful dereliction of duty. She made herself quite stiff accordingly in obedience to propriety, and changed her tone. ‘Is not Oswald at home?’ she said. ‘I thought I should be sure to see him.’ ‘Oswald is at home, but he keeps away at this hour. He overdoes it, I think; but sons like to have their mothers to themselves: I don’t think they like her to have such troops of friends. And Oswald, you know, is a man, and would like to be master.’ ‘He has no right to be master!’ said Cara, the colour rising on her cheeks. ‘Why should not she have her friends?’ ‘That is exactly what I tell him; but most likely he will understand you better. He is not my ideal of a young man; so you have no call to be angry with me on account of Oswald.’ ‘I--angry with--you; when I don’t know you--when I never saw you before! I beg your pardon,’ cried Cara, fearing that perhaps this might sound rude; but if it was rude it was true. ‘Must you go?’ said Mrs. Meredith to her visitor. ‘Well, I will not delay you, for it is late; but that is all over, is it not? I cannot afford to be misunderstood by anyone I care for. Won’t you say “How d’ye do?” to Mr. Somerville, my old friend, whom you see always, and Miss Beresford, my young friend, whom you have never seen before?’ ‘I have not time, indeed,’ said the stranger, with a vague bow towards the fireplace; ‘but I go away happy--it is all over, indeed. I shall know better than ever to listen to detractors and mischief-makers again.’ ‘That is right,’ she said, giving him her hand once more. When he was gone she turned back with a little air of fatigue. ‘Somebody had persuaded that foolish boy that I thought him a bore. He is not a bore--except now and then; but he is too young,’ said Mrs. Meredith, shaking her head. ‘You young people are so exigent, Cara. You want always to be first; and in friendship that, you know, is impossible. All are equal on that ground.’ ‘I am glad you have a lesson now and then,’ said Mr. Somerville. ‘You know my opinion on that subject.’ ‘Are you going to dine with us, dear Mr. Somerville?’ said Mrs. Meredith, sweetly, looking at her watch. ‘Do. You know Mr. Beresford is coming, who is very fine company indeed. No? I am so sorry. It would be so much more amusing for him, not to speak of Cara and me.’ ‘I am very sorry I can’t amuse you to-night,’ he said, getting to his feet more briskly than Cara expected. Mrs. Meredith laughed; and there was a certain sound of hostility in the laugh, as though she was glad of the little prick she had bestowed. ‘Cara, you must run and dress,’ she said; ‘not any toilette to speak of, dear. There will only be your father and Oswald; but you must be quick, for we have been kept very late this evening. I wonder you can resist that young face,’ she said, as Cara went away. ‘You are fond of youth, I know.’