"You know perfectly well I could not do anything so impertinent," he said, with a touch of asperity. Imogen reddened. "Forgive me," he went on, "I do not mean to speak harshly. But one thing--do promise me, Miss Wentworth, that if you are in any real trouble or dilemma here--anything in which your mother, as a stranger herself, might not be able to help you--you will not be afraid of applying to me." "Yes," said Imogen, "I promise you." They were close to the house by this tune. As they entered the hall they came upon the two who had preceded them, warming themselves at the fire. Major Winchester stalked across and disappeared through a doorway without speaking. He had gone to look after some hot tea for Imogen, for she was blue with cold. "What's the matter now?" said Miss Forsyth. "Have _you_ offended his majesty, Miss Wentworth?" "I don't know what you mean," said Imogen. "How silly you are, Mab!" said Trixie. "Don't you see, Imogen, she--like the rest of us--is so flabbergasted that she doesn't know how to take it?" "Well, no wonder," Mabella replied, lightly. "Did any one _ever_ before see Major Winchester devote himself like that to anything in the shape of a young lady? How _have_ you done it, Miss Wentworth?" "I don't know what you mean," said Imogen again. She turned to go up-stairs as she spoke, and she spoke coolly. All the same the shot had taken effect. CHAPTER SEVEN. ACTING AND NOT ACTING. Some guests had left The Fells that afternoon, but others had arrived. There were further goings and comings during the next few days, but more of the latter than the former. The Helmonts were in their glory, but to Imogen and her mother, fresh from their uneventful monotonous life _a deux_, the effect was almost as confusing as that of a kaleidoscope too rapidly turned. It became a relief when the party settled down as it were, for a little, into the chosen guests especially selected for the private theatricals which had been for some time under discussion, and at which the "assistance" of the Wentworths had _not_ been desired. But Imogen was undoubtedly pretty; every one, even Miss Forsyth, allowed it. And her face was a novelty. She proved to have more spirit, or "go," as Trixie called it, in her, than had seemed probable; on the whole, she bid fair to be a very creditable success. Her inexperience and shyness were amusing, not tiresome. Her mother watched her with enchantment, ready and eager to swallow any amount of even the most thinly disguised flattery on Imogen's account from the astute Mabella.