She settled the ribbons in her white dress, and looked once again in the glass to see if the soft, almost fluffy, hair, which the least breath disturbed was disarranged. She smoothed it with her short white hand. There was a wistful expression in her brown eyes, a little pathetic won't-you-care-for-me expression which she cultivated, knowing its charm in her somewhat short, rather broad face, which ended in a pointed chin: the nose was slightly tip-tilted, her teeth were white, but too large. Her figure was delicate, and with quick steps she hurried along the passages and down the high staircase. Harold was standing before the fireplace, reading the _Times,_ when she entered. 'You are rather late, Mildred. I am afraid I shall lose the ten minutes past nine.' 'My dear Harold, you have gone up to town for the last ten years by that train, and every day we go through a little scene of fears and doubts; you have never yet missed it, I may safely assume you will not miss it this morning.' 'I'm afraid I shall have to order the cart, and I like to get a walk if possible in the morning.' 'I can walk it in twelve minutes.' 'I shouldn't like to walk it in this broiling sun in fifteen. ... By the way, have you looked at the glass this morning?' 'No; I am tired of looking at it. It never moves from "set fair."' 'It is intolerably hot--can you sleep at night?' 'No; I didn't get to sleep till after two. I lay awake thinking of Mrs. Fargus.' 'I never saw you talk to a woman like that before. I wonder what you see in her. She's very plain. I daresay she's very clever, but she never says anything--at least not to me.' 'She talks fast enough on her own subjects. You didn't try to draw her out. She requires drawing out. ... But it wasn't so much Mrs. Fargus as having a woman in the house. It makes one's life so different; one feels more at ease. I think I ought to have a companion.' 'Have a middle-aged lady here, who would bore me with her conversation all through dinner when I come home from the City tired and worn out!' 'But you don't think that your conversation when you "come home from the City tired and worn out" has no interest whatever for me; that this has turned out a good investment; that the shares have gone up, and will go up again? I should like to know how I am to interest myself in all that. What has it to do with me?' 'What has it to do with you! How do you think that this house and grounds, carriages and horses and servants, glasshouses without end, are paid for? Do I ever grumble about the dressmakers' bills?--and heaven knows they are high enough. I believe all your hats and hosiery are put down to house expenses, but I never grumble. I let you have everything you want--horses, carriages, dresses, servants. You ought to be the happiest girl in the world in this beautiful place.'