Guy wondered how she would ever be got upstairs to her room. "This is the hall," he shouted. "Rather unfurnished I'm afraid." "Oh, yes, I'm quite used to the country," said Miss Peasey. Guy was now in a state of nervous indecision. Just as he was going to shout to Miss Peasey that the kitchen was through the baize-door, the hostler from the Stag came up to know whether mutton would do instead of beef, and just as he said pork would be better than nothing, the guard arrived with Miss Peasey's tin box and wanted to know where he should put it. The hall seemed to be thronged with people. "You'd like your boxes upstairs, wouldn't you?" he shouted to the housekeeper. "Oh, do you want to come upstairs?" she said cheerfully. "No, your boxes. The kitchen's in here." He really hustled her into the kitchen and, having got her at last in a well-lighted room, he begged her to sit down and expect her supper. By this time two men who had been summoned by the driver of the omnibus to bring in Guy's books, were staggering and sweating into the hall. However, the confusion relaxed in time; and before the clock struck ten Guy was alone with Miss Peasey and without an audience was managing to make her understand most of what he was saying. "I'll come down in about half an hour," he told her, "and show you your room." "It's a long way," said Miss Peasey, when the moment was arrived to conduct her up the winding staircase to her bower in the roof. Guy had calculated that she would miss all the beams, and so from a desire to make the best of the staircase he had not mentioned them. He sighed with relief when she passed into her bedroom, unbumped. "Oh, quite nice," she pronounced looking round her. "In the morning, we'll talk over everything," said Guy, and with a hurried good-night he rushed away. In the hall he attacked with a chisel the first packing-case. One by one familiar volumes winked at him with their gold lettering in the candlelight. He chose Keats to take upstairs and, having read St. Agnes' Eve, stood by the window of his bedroom, poring upon the moonlit valley. In bed his mind skipped the stress of Miss Peasey's arrival and fled back to the meadows where he had been walking. "Monica, Margaret...." he began dreamily. It was a pity he had forgotten to find out the name of that sister who was so like a wild rose. Never mind: he would find out to-morrow. And for the second time that day the word lulled him like an opiate. _October_