"The nicest of all," she decided, reverting to the original subject of her meditations, "would be if Major Winchester were to speak to _me_ in the first place. If there were an understanding between him and me, it would all be so much easier; perhaps he will speak to me. Of course, I _may_ have to allow an engagement almost at once. Dear, dear! how astonished everybody will be; it is not often nowadays that a girl so young--But really I must get my letters written and not waste time." The said letters contained more than one hint of coming events, for Mrs Wentworth found it impossible altogether to repress her sense of maternal exultation. And several times during the next few days her heart beat faster, and she was conscious of a flutter of pleasurable expectation, when Rex happened to approach her or seemed to be seeking her society. "I must give him all the opportunities I can," she reflected. But she was not clever enough to do so with the real adroitness and apparent nonchalance such tactics require. Miss Forsyth saw through the little manoeuvres, and enjoyed them with strange, almost impish acuteness, though her pleasure could not be shared, as she had too small faith in Trixie's powers of discretion to draw her attention to them. But Major Winchester himself, though the least suspicious or self-conscious of human beings, was uncomfortably aware of a certain change in Mrs Wentworth's manner. "What can it be?" he asked himself. "She is a nice woman, though not a very wise one. Surely she is not a silly old coquette at bottom. I should be very sorry to think so, for that child's sake." But the very suggestion of such a misgiving tinged his manner in turn with a faint constraint, which gave colour to Mrs Wentworth's prepossessions. The very evening before that of the grand representation a little scene of this kind occurred. The full-dress rehearsal, for the benefit of the upper servants and some of the out-of-doors retainers and neighbouring small tenants on the estate, had just taken place; and while the actors were changing their dresses Major Winchester, who had good-naturedly volunteered to be prompter, strolled into the drawing-room in search of Florence. She was not there; but Imogen's mother was standing by the fire. He was moving away, when Mrs Wentworth recalled him. "No; Florence is not here," she said, in answer to a word or two that he had let fall; "but she will be back directly. She went to say something or other about the lights, I think. She was speaking to Mr Villars about them." "Ah, yes, that is all right then; it was that I wanted her for. They must be changed." And out of a sort of reluctance to seem abrupt or discourteous, he lingered for a moment. "Do stay a little and talk about the acting. It seemed to me _so_ successful. You are all so busy I never see any of you. Of course, I don't pretend to be anything of a judge; but it really is very good now, is it not?"