"So glad to see you, so sorry I was not down-stairs!" she said in a somewhat constrained tone, as Mrs Wentworth pressed forward effusively. And the cheek which received the visitor's kiss was quickly turned away. "Your daughter? ah, yes, of course. I remember. You have a son too? No? Oh, I am confusing you with Mrs--Why, Trixie, you here!" in a tone of extremest surprise. "Wonders will never cease! _Can_ she be going to turn over a new leaf?" she asked herself mentally. Anyway, it was a convenience for the time being to have one daughter at hand; "perhaps what her father said to her this morning is going to have some effect," she went on to herself, feeling by no means disposed in the present emergency to quarrel with the goods the gods sent her, even though they were but Beatrix. "I was just thinking that, perhaps, Mrs Wentworth and Miss--No?" In response to a smiling gesture of deprecation from her new friend, "am I really to call you Imogen; that _is_ sweet of you." This was going a little too far. An undisguised frown on her cousin's face startled Trixie a little. "I was thinking," she repeated in a more natural tone, "that, perhaps, they would like to see their rooms." "Very decidedly so, I should say," replied Major Winchester sharply. Beatrix turned to her mother. "Which rooms, mamma?" she said in a low tone. But Imogen overheard it. "Fancy," she thought, with a little thrill of disappointment, "fancy her not knowing. Why, if they had been coming to stay with us, I would have been running about to get flowers for their toilet-tables, and all sorts of things like that. But, I suppose, it is different when people have so many visitors." The momentary feeling, however, was visible, as were most of the girl's feelings to quick observation at least, on her transparent countenance. As she raised her sweet eyes, she caught Major Winchester's fixed on her with a curious expression. She felt herself flush a little. "I do believe he knows what I am thinking," she said to herself, with a strange mingling of pleasure and annoyance, "and I have not known him two hours!" But the sound of Mrs Helmont's voice recalled her to practical matters. "The brown room and the little pink room beside it; you know, Trixie, in the corner by the west staircase. Only--I am really so vexed--I am afraid your room is not quite ready, Mrs Wentworth, you see--" "Mrs Wentworth," repeated the owner of the name reproachfully, "am I not to be `Lucy' to you, dear Mrs Helmont?" At another time the good lady would probably have been touched and would have responded kindly, but just now she was thoroughly put out. "It is twenty years, if not more, since we met, and then only for a couple of days. I really had not the least idea what your name was; but the question is your room.--Trixie!" glancing round despairingly. Mrs Wentworth put a brave effort on herself; she was determined that Imogen should not suspect she was feeling mortified.