"You are so kind, so very kind, dear Major Winchester, to take so much interest in my Imogen," she murmured. "Yes, I wish she knew more of Florence, as I see you think highly of her. Of course she is a good deal older--" "Florence cannot be older than that other girl," said Rex, rather gruffly. "And _her_ age does not seem to be any objection to her as a friend." "Imogen is not a particular friend of Mabella's," said Mrs Wentworth, quietly. "In fact she--I think she has rather taken a dislike to the poor girl. _I_ like her, I confess, very much. I am sorry for her; she seems to me much misunderstood; and of course, if a little friendly, elder-sisterly sympathy can do her any good, or be any help to her--" Major Winchester could not help smiling. Mrs Wentworth's simplicity was sublime. "My dear lady," he said, "you are years--centuries younger than Miss Forsyth. I cannot agree with you about her, I am sorry to say; but that does not signify. I am only uncommonly glad to hear that Miss Wentworth is rather of my way of thinking than yours in this matter." He rose as he spoke, but Mrs Wentworth was reluctant to let him go. "How stupid men are!" she thought to herself. "When could he have a better opportunity of taking me into his confidence?" "Thank you so much, Major Winchester," she said. "You may indeed trust me. I shall consider all you have said as quite, _quite_ between ourselves." Rex almost started. He looked and felt bewildered. He had had no intention whatever of establishing any private understanding with the amiable lady; it was about the very last thing he desired. "I must go," he said. "Florence will be looking for me elsewhere. It really doesn't matter in the least if you repeat anything I have said. Do not feel any constraint about it, I beg of you." But Mrs Wentworth chose to take it her own way. "I see where Imogen has learnt her dislike to Mabella," she thought to herself. "Ah, well--it really does not signify. But how oddly Major Winchester expresses himself sometimes." The theatricals were pronounced a great success. Nothing of any consequence went wrong, and the audience, composed of all the society to be got together within a reasonable radius of The Fells, professed itself delighted. This was the festive and sociable season in the north country, of course; several of the large neighbouring houses were nearly as full of guests as Grey Fells Hall itself, and their respective hosts were most ready to be grateful for this entertainment on a large scale. So the unfavourable criticisms, if there were any, were not made in public, and congratulations and compliments were the order of the day. "It wasn't half so dreadful, after all, as I expected," said Imogen, throwing herself down on a couch standing in a passage just outside the temporary green-room. "Now it is over, I almost feel as if I should like to do it again."