"I know what I'm about, thank you," said Miss Forsyth. "If you manage your part of it as well, you'll have no reason to turn upon me. Your mother is incapable of more than one idea at a time, and just now her only thought is to hand over these people to somebody or anybody till luncheon time." And long before luncheon time one part of Mabella's task was accomplished. She had won thoroughly and completely Mrs Wentworth's confidence, and this with so little difficulty that she almost despised herself as well as her unconscious victim for the ease of the achievement. "She is charming," said poor Mrs Wentworth, when at last she found herself alone with her daughter, "quite charming, so kind and unselfish. I really must say I should have felt just a little, a very little strange and uncomfortable arriving so early, and poor dear Mrs Helmont so busy and the elder girls out, if it hadn't been for Miss Forsyth. It shows how unwise it is to judge by appearances; at first, I confess, I did not at all feel as if I should take to her." "_I_ never shall take to her," said Imogen, bluntly; "I can't bear her. She has a sort of patronising way that I think is perfectly horrid. Still, I'm glad if she made you more comfortable. I felt _horribly_ uncomfortable, and I don't think Mrs Helmont is `poor dear' at all: she really didn't seem the very least glad to see us--hardly as if she knew whom we were. I felt inclined to beg you to go back to London again." "My darling!" exclaimed Mrs Wentworth in horror. They were in Imogen's room--which was at last ready--doing their best, though without their luggage, to make themselves presentable for luncheon. "Yes," said Imogen. "I did, indeed. And I felt very cross with you too, mamsey, for it really was all with you insisting on coming so long before they expected us: it _was_ a stupid thing to do. Trixie allowed that it was, though she's as nice as can be. _She_ made me feel at home almost at once, I must say." "I am so glad," said Mrs Wentworth, fervently. "All the same." Imogen went on thoughtfully, "I think I understand what Major Winchester meant." Was it fancy, or did a faint, the very faintest pink flush steal over her face at the mere mention of his name? "How do you mean, darling?" asked her mother. "You seem to have made great friends with this Major Winchester already." "Nonsense, mamsey!" said Imogen, not too respectfully, it must be allowed; "he was very kind to us, and of course it was natural for him to tell me a little about the girls, when he saw I was so anxious to know. He likes Florence much the best; but in spite of what he said, I am not sure that _I_ shall. There is a great deal of good in Trixie, I am sure. She has been telling me about herself: she has been spoilt and selfish, she says, and rather wild. And though she didn't say so, I fancy Miss Forsyth has not had a good influence on her. That's why I don't like her."