"Yes, of course. I'm awfully fond of Angey--we both are. But Rex has so much upon him just now, so many different things. Of course, it's not _all_ anxiety; there's the bright side, the hopeful side to it too. I don't know that I've any right to talk to you like this though, Miss Wentworth, but somehow I feel as if I'd known you before. I hope you don't mind." "Oh no," said Imogen, wondering a little at his manner, nevertheless, and conscious of looking slightly awkward--why, she scarcely knew. "It's--it's very kind of you. I do trust Mrs Bertrand will be all right again soon. I am so sorry for Major Winchester. He--he has been so kind to me." "I am so delighted to see you understand--appreciate him," said the young fellow boyishly, and Imogen felt herself growing red as he looked at her. She was half pleased, half puzzled by his manner. "_I_ think him--well, perfection--the most splendid fellow going," he went on, laughing a little at his own enthusiasm. "But all the same everybody doesn't take to him. Some people think him so cold and stand-off." "He has never--never from the first seemed so to me," she replied, impulsively. "I couldn't tell you what a difference his being here and--and his goodness has made to me. I feel as if I could tell him anything--he understands so;" then she stopped, feeling ashamed of her little outburst, and very conscious of her glowing cheeks. "I hope he won't think me gushing, or anything like that," she thought. "I couldn't bear his talking of me that way to Major Winchester; I know _he_ hates gushing." For she felt that Robin was looking at her with an expression she was at a loss to understand. There was admiration in it undoubtedly-- admiration as respectful as it was genuine; but there was something of questioning, of slight misgiving in the eyes that now and then looked so like his brother's. "You are right," he said quietly; "there's no one like him." They were in the dancing-room by this time. Imogen began to feel nervous in another sense. "I hope you don't dance very well, Mr Winchester," she began. "_No_--I don't mean that, for it would make it worse. I mean I hope you are not very--difficult to please. For I have had very little practice. Oh yes," as she noticed the surprised expression on her companion's face--"I can dance; of course I have learnt, but I haven't danced _properly_--among other people, you know--at balls." "I'm sure we'll get on all right," he replied; "you look as if you would dance well. Don't be nervous." He proved a true prophet; after a moment or two's slight hesitation, Imogen found herself quite at home. "Oh," she said, when at last they stopped, "I had no idea it could be so nice; ever so much easier, too, than dancing when it's a dancing-lesson, you know." Mr Winchester could scarcely help laughing, but he was pleased too.