"So you will be soon, my darling. I don't want to see you quite like her. You are so different; but she is a very nice girl, and by-and-by perhaps you'll see more of her. You do want more of a companion of your own age. There goes the breakfast bell! What a wet, soaking morning; but it isn't foggy down here like it used to be in the Square, and the sun shines more; and Miss Kate--" "Oh, don't speak like that, nurse!" "But I must, my dear. I have to keep my place down here." "Well, when we are alone then. What were you going to say?" "I want you to try and make me happy down here." "I? How can I?" "By letting the sunshine come back into your face. You've nearly broken my heart lately, what with seeing you crying and being so ill." "I'm going to try, nurse." "That's right. What's that? Hail?" At that moment there was a tap at the door. "Nearly ready to go down, my darling?" The door opened, and Mrs Wilton appeared. "May I come in? Ah, quite ready. Come, that's better, my pretty pet. Why, you look lovely and quite a colour coming into your face. Now, don't she look nice this morning?" "Yes, ma'am; I've been telling her so." "I thought we should bring her round. I am pleased, and you're a very good girl. Your uncle will be delighted; but come along down, and let's make the tea, or he'll be going about like a roaring lion for his food. Oh! bless me, what's that?" "That" was a sharp rattling, for the second time, on the window-pane. "Not hail, surely. Oh, you naughty boy," she continued, throwing open the casement window. "Claud, my dear, you shouldn't throw stones at the bedroom windows." "Only small shot. Morning. How's Kate? Tell her the breakfast's waiting." "We're coming, my dear, and your cousin's ever so much better. Come here, my dear." Kate coloured slightly, as she went to the open window, and Claud stood looking up, grinning. "How are you? Didn't you hear the shot I pitched up before?" "Yes, I thought it was hail," said Kate, coldly. "Only number six. But come on down; the guv'nor's been out these two hours, and gone to change his wet boots." "We're coming, my dear," cried Mrs Wilton; "and Claud, my dear, I'm sure your feet must be wet. Go in and change your boots at once." "Bother. They're all right." "Now don't be obstinate, my dear; you know how delicate your throat is, and--There, he's gone. You'll have to help me to make him more obedient, Kate, my dear. I've noticed already how much more attention he pays to what you say. But there, come along." James Wilton was already in the breakfast-room, looking at his letters, and scowling over them like the proverbial bear with the sore head.