"Yes, but only for a day or two, not long before your dear father and I went out to India," said Mrs Wentworth with a little sigh. "I don't remember it very distinctly--it was a great big house, an ideal country-house for a large merry party. Of course, a good many of the young people were not grown up then--there was a baby if I remember rightly. Oh yes, the youngest daughter Beatrix, so she must be only a year or so older than you, darling. How very odd that Mrs Helmont and I have children so nearly of an age, when _she_ might really be my mother!" and Mrs Wentworth gave the little self-complacent laugh she often indulged in when her comparative youth, or youthful appearance, was alluded to. "How delightful!" exclaimed Imogen, ignoring entirely, though with no intention of disrespect, her mothers last sentence. "How delightful that there should be one daughter, anyway, of my age. There are lots older, I suppose?" "Two, if not three, married, and three at home," Mrs Helmont said. "In her letter this morning you see she speaks of Florence as hoping to do all she can to make your visit pleasant. Florence--can that be the youngest daughter? I have such a remembrance of the baby being Beatrix, because I thought it such a pretty name; and when you were born I wanted to call you by it, but your dear father would have Imogen. I've always thought it rather an eccentric name, but some people like it. I always forget who Imogen was exactly, and it looks so foolish. I must read up about it, or her, again." "Oh, bother, never mind about my name, mamsey. Go on about the Helmonts. I daresay Florence is the youngest. You often muddle about people's names, you know, mamsey dear. And there are lots of sons, too, I suppose?" "Oh dear, yes; but remember, dear, I don't _think_ I want you to fall in love with any of them. They won't be particularly well off, except the eldest one, and he, of course, not till his father's death." "How horrid!" said Imogen. "I can't bear counting on people's fathers and mothers dying. But I don't care about being rich a bit, mamsey. You have such funny ideas sometimes. We're not rich, and we're very happy--now especially that I've left school, and we're not obliged to live all the year round at that stupid old Eastbourne, but can go visits--lovely, delightful visits! And oh, mamsey, _do_ you think you'll let Thorn Bush and take a dear little house in London, anyway for a year or two?" "We must see. I think very likely the Helmonts will be able to give me some practical advice, as they are so cordial and friendly. Nothing could be kinder than her letter, and you see she says a fortnight _at least_, Imogen; though she adds that the house is full already, and will be overflowing by next week."