"They will be so delighted to see us," she said to Imogen, when Imogen, not unnaturally, demurred. "But I don't want to see them; not the very least bit in the world, mamma," she said. "It will be such a nuisance to undo our things for one night when they're all nicely packed, and my new frocks will be _so_ crushed--two days instead of one. And very likely we'll get into the wrong train or something, the next morning, just when Mrs Helmont has told us exactly what time to leave London, and all about it." But in Mrs Wentworth, for all her gentleness--and it was genuine, not superficial--there was a curious touch of obstinacy; obstinacy in this instance grounded on a strong motive which her daughter did not suspect. The truth was she was dying to show off Imogen--Imogen in the freshness of her beauty and her new clothes--to the old school-friend, whose small means and large family prevented from often enjoying such sights. And Mrs Wentworth pleased herself by taking credit for the pleasure she believed she was unselfish in giving; "it will brighten up poor dear Henrietta to hear of all we are doing, as well as to see Imogen," she thought; not reflecting that the advent of a party of three in an already overcrowded parsonage would entail considerable trouble and, indeed, expense to their entertainers. _She_ enjoyed it however, whether "Henrietta" and her husband did or not. And Imogen made herself very happy with the children, especially the big boys; though she disappointed her mother by not in the least posing as a "come-out" fashionable young woman, and gave Colman an hour or two's unnecessary stitching by tearing the skirt of her pretty new travelling dress. So far, however, no great harm was done. That was reserved for the next morning, when, on consulting the time-table at the early breakfast for his guests' benefit, worthy Mr Stainer made the appalling discovery that the train by which they were expected at Cobbolds did not stop at Maxton, their present quarters! What was to be done? "No matter--stay till the next. It gets to--stay, let us see--yes, it gets there at six. Plenty of time to dress for dinner. I suppose these smart friends of yours don't dine at soonest till half-past seven," said the vicar. "Oh, not till eight, _certainly_," said Mrs Wentworth with a faint touch of reproach. "But I don't know--the evenings are drawing in so, and it is so cold. No, I think we had better go by the _earlier_ train you mentioned, reaching Cobbolds at--when did you say?" "Somewhere between eleven and twelve," Mr Stainer replied. "Well, as you like," for a glance from behind the tea-urn had warned him not to press the guests to stay over another luncheon; "of course you know best. But you will have to hurry. Shall I telegraph them?"