As she spoke, the temporary parlour-maid threw open the door of the room which Delia had that morning chosen as her own sitting-room. "Are you at home, Miss? Mrs. France would like to see you." "Mrs. France?--Mrs. France? Oh, I know--the doctor's wife--Mrs. Bird was talking of him this morning. Well, I suppose I must go." Delia moved unwillingly. "I'm coming, Mary." "Of course you must go," said Gertrude, a little peremptorily. "As we are here we may as well reconnoitre the whole ground--find out everything we can." * * * * * In the drawing-room, to which some flowers, and a litter of new books and magazines had already restored its inhabited look, Delia found a woman awaiting her, in whom the girl's first glance discerned a personality. She was dressed with an entire disregard of the fashion, in plain, serviceable clothes. A small black bonnet tied under the chin framed a face whose only beauty lay in the expression of the clear kind eyes, and quiet mouth. The eyes were a little prominent; the brow above them unusually smooth and untroubled, answering to the bands of brown hair touched with grey which defined it. But the rest of the face was marked by many deep lines--of experience, or suffering?--which showed clearly that its owner had long left physical youth behind. And yet perhaps youth--in some spiritual poetic sense--was what Mrs. France's aspect most sharply conveyed. She rose as Delia entered, and greeted her warmly. "It is nice to see you settled here! Dr. France and I were great friends of your old grandmother. He and she were regular cronies. We were very sorry to see the news of your poor father's death." The voice was clear and soft, and absolutely sincere. Delia felt drawn to her. But it had become habitual to her to hold herself on the defensive with strangers, to suspect hostility and disapproval everywhere. So that her manner in reply, though polite enough, was rather chilly.