Just before dinner, Theo, in the school-room, with all her eyes and half the voice-power at her command, had told me the dress was _divine_, and that I looked a little _angel_ in it! “Angel?” H’m. That wasn’t how I _felt_, exactly. Still I know I looked my best; as pretty as ever I’d looked in the dear old days before I had anything else to do. Looking her best always keys a girl up to doing her best. (Or her worst, as the case may be.) Besides, another glance at the Governor had shown me that I’d been right in my suspicion at dinner. He _was_ embarrassed. He was—probably for the first time in his life—_shy_! This put the finishing touch to my feeling myself to be—also for the first time—mistress of this situation. Therefore, I stood there, still waiting, looking as if it were I who were paralysed with shyness, deliberately waiting for _him_ to speak. “Thank you,” he had murmured as he took the cup from me. There was another pause, which was—as I fully intended—the first of many. Then he added, in a rather uncertain sort of voice, “I suppose it was my mother’s—my mother who sent you in here?” “Yes! Oh, yes,” I said hastily, as if breathlessly flurried and meek beyond all words. “She seemed to think—I didn’t know what else to do—am I in your way?” (Here I glanced up at him with scared, appealing eyes as much as to say, “Is it my fault if I am?”) Pause. “I am afraid,” said the Governor, rather as if the words were forced from him, “that I shall have to ask you to put with up this—er—incongruity for the next half-hour or so. Won’t you sit down, Miss Trant?” And he wheeled forward one of those capacious arm-chairs, placing it at a mercifully wide distance from the fender-stool—where Mrs. Waters perhaps imagined we were at that moment sitting—Oh shade of everything that’s wildly impossible!—sitting together like ordinary young engaged people, hand in hand—or however they _do_ sit. My goodness! I sat down, dropping my eyes demurely, and folding my hands in my lap. Another pause. “I—er——” said the Governor, then stopped and tried to look as if he hadn’t begun a sentence. “Yes? Is there anything that I can—that you think I ought to be able to do for you while I am here, Mr. Waters?” “Perhaps it might be wiser if you stopped calling me by that name”—dryly. He seemed to have pulled himself together with a jerk, for he was looking and speaking more like himself at this. However, it had no effect on _me_. “Oh, of _course_,” I said obediently, “I shall _always_ remember to call you B——by your Christian name (_that_ is an abbreviation, too, isn’t it?) when we are with the others.” “And then, if you use my other name when we are alone, you may forget, and let it slip out when the others are here,” he objected, looking down on me from his perch on the fender-stool, “and—and it’s more than likely that my sisters might notice. Theodora notices everything.” “Yes”—gently—“so I gather.”