"Not just now, I daresay," he said kindly, "for you are vexed and upset, I know." "How do you know?" she asked, some laggard tears rising slowly as she spoke. "Never mind. I was told I should find you here, and so I have. I know what it's about too," for Major Winchester was great at going to the point. "It isn't a _very_ big trouble after all, but then at seventeen--" "I'm eighteen--eighteen _past_," interrupted Imogen, so indignantly that the tears hid themselves in a fright, which her friend was not sorry to see. He smiled. "Well--even at eighteen. I was once eighteen myself," (Imogen could not help smiling a little); "and I can understand that, as you have to do this thing, you would rather do it well than badly. I can understand, too, that Trixie is probably not the most delicate and tactful person to have to do with in the circumstances." "I _hate_ being laughed at," said Imogen frankly. "Naturally. Villars is really not a bad fellow, but he thinks he's bound to keep his hobby always at full-speed. Now--have you got your part?" "Yes," she replied, extracting some rather dilapidated-looking pages from her pocket, "here it is. This is the worst bit," she went on, "the little dialogue with Hubert. `Oh, to think how I trusted you,' it begins." CHAPTER EIGHT. "VALESCA." "`Oh, to think how I trusted you,'" repeated Major Winchester, "hum, hum," and he read on a few sentences to himself consideringly. "Yes," said Imogen, "and `Hubert', you know, is Mr Calthorp. Just fancy! If only I were going to do it with you now, Major Winchester, I--" She stopped short. The sound of a door softly shutting startled her. "What was that?" she said. "Oh, nothing; some unfortunate actor seeking the solitude of the library to study his part in," said Rex. He went on reading for a minute or two. Neither he nor Imogen heard a door overhead open, even more softly than the other one had closed. "Fancy," Imogen repeated, "_Mr Calthorp_, Major Winchester. Now, if you were it, I am sure I could do it better." "For _your_ sake I wish I were, though the character is scarcely one which recommends itself to me," he said. "But now, look here, my dear child;" and he leant forward towards her a little, while he pointed out a passage on the page; "when you come to--" And he proceeded to emphasise a line or two. The door above closed very, very gently, and two ladies slipped quietly back into the up-stairs passage from which it opened. They were Mrs Wentworth and Miss Forsyth. Imogen's mother was smiling with a slightly self-conscious, slightly alarmed expression; Mabella was whispering eagerly. "There now," she said; "I am so glad you have seen for yourself. Wasn't I clever?" Mrs Wentworth spoke half nervously.