"What does it matter about my room?" she said, laughingly. "I can't allow you to treat me as _quite_ a stranger, even though you had forgotten my name. Can't I take off my wraps in--" "In Beatrix's room," she was going to have said, but she was interrupted. "In mine," said a new-comer. "It is Mrs and Miss Wentworth, is it not? I heard of some arrival, and knowing Florence was out, and you busy, dear Mrs Helmont, mayn't I be of a little _use for once_?" and Miss Forsyth--for she it was--drew near her hostess with an air of half-timid deprecation. Mrs Helmont felt completely bewildered. She had little presence of mind at any time, and this extraordinary metamorphosis was too much for her. Major Winchester, be it observed, had before this taken his departure. "I--I am sure I have never refused to let you be of use, Mabella," said the elder lady, rather stiffly. Miss Forsyth drew still nearer, and whispered a word or two in her ear. Mrs Helmont's face softened. "Now, Mrs Wentworth, do come with me," said the young woman. "My room is next to Trixie's, where I know she is dying to take your daughter. I can lend you anything--slippers, brushes, combs--even a tea-gown if your dress is damp, and if you would so far condescend?" Mrs Wentworth looked at her. Miss Forsyth was undeniably plain, almost coarse-looking. Her features were large, her complexion swarthy; the only redeeming point, as not infrequently is the case with otherwise ugly people, was her eyes. They were large and dark, and therefore supposed to be beautiful. "She has nice eyes," thought Mrs Wentworth, "and she seems very amiable. For such a plain girl to be amiable she must be _very_ amiable, I should say.--And thank you very much, Miss--" And she hesitated. "Forsyth," said Mrs Helmont. "Miss Forsyth is a very frequent visitor with us," she went on, her conscience smiting her a little for making over these innocent lambs to the wolf Mabella, whom, truth to tell, she herself was not a little afraid of. But Baxter would not have got all the linen put away yet: there would be time for her to resume and complete the interesting review of her possessions before luncheon if she went at once. "If you will be so kind, Mabella," she went on.--"You, dear Mrs Wentworth, will, I know, excuse me. I really am very busy this morning." "Of course, of course," cried Imogen's mother, delighted to have won the gratifying adjective. "We shall be perfectly happy.--Thank you so much, Miss Forsyth," and she turned to follow Mabella, Beatrix and the other victim having already disappeared. Trixie managed to hang back on the stairs, however, and to exchange an aside with her double. "I like you," she said, "preaching to me about not overdoing it, and there you are, humbugging away to such an extent. Any fool could see you were up to mischief."