"Don't," said Rex, almost sharply. "I--I can scarcely bear the sound of her name sometimes. I daresay that has made me avoid alluding to her in my talks with little Imogen. For I told her about poor Angey. But I will see about it; though, remember, I do not in the _very_ least agree with your reason for thinking it advisable. Of all things I hate that style of thing, imagining one's self an attractive young fellow like you, Robin, when one's hair is growing grey." He turned it off lightly. Still, his brother's words had their effect. "I had no idea little Robin was so worldly-wise; no, that's not the word," Major Winchester said to himself when his companion had gone. "He means it for the best, but it _must_ be nonsense. Still, the mother is silly enough for anything. I must think it over." CHAPTER TEN. MABELLA PULLS THE STRINGS. Imogen slept late the next morning, later than she had ever done in her life; for she was new to gay doings, and when at last she opened her eyes, it was but to close them again with a sleepy smile as she gradually recalled the scenes of the night before. "How nice it was! I wonder if all girls enjoy their first real grown-up party as much," she thought. "I wonder if Major Winchester will manage the skating." (For a hard frost had set in somewhat prematurely.) "What fun it would be, only I'm afraid I shall tumble about dreadfully. I wonder," as another recollection suddenly returned to her mind, "what he meant when he said he wanted to have a little talk with me to-day--to tell me something; it must be something particular, for he whispered `Remember about our talk to-morrow,' last thing. Mother noticed it, but I wasn't going to tell her all he said; she is so--so fanciful!" The colour deepened on the girl's cheeks, alone though she was, as she reached this point in her cogitations. _Was_ it all "fancy" of her mother's? Could it be that Major Winchester really _was_?--and remarks of Trixie's as to the astonishingness of his "making such friends" with a girl of her age, "he who never scarcely speaks to a girl," returned to her memory in full force. Imogen's heart beat faster with a sensation of mingled gratification and vague fear. Was "it," the great "it" of her girl life, really coming to her already? Did all girls feel as she did when such things drew near? It was not what she had expected, somehow: she liked him, liked and respected and trusted him thoroughly, but he seemed so old in comparison with her. And--oh, after all, perhaps it was all nonsense--mamsey was silly about her; all mothers fancy their daughters something wonderful--very likely there was nothing in it; and with a sigh, half of relief, half of disappointment, Imogen threw herself back on her pillows. Would she be glad or sorry if it _were_ all nonsense? she asked herself. And it was not easy to answer.