“I have been with my little cousin here, and Miss Vane of the High Lodge, who is coming to call on Amanda on Monday,” said Frederick. “In the meantime I took the liberty of inviting my cousin to stay with my wife for a couple of nights. I hope it is practicable----” “Oh, practicable enough,” said Batty, with a laugh. “I’m not one of those as leaves themselves without a room to give to a friend. Plenty of accommodation here for as many as you like to bring--and the more the merrier, if they’re the right sort. Glad to see you, Miss Innocent. Training up for your trade, eh?--at that old nunnery out there. Lord, to see that old Lady Abbess in my house will be a sight! ’Manda will tackle her, I’ll be bound. Walk up, walk up-stairs, Eastwood will show you the way; and he’s sure of a warm welcome, he is. Ha, ha, ha, ha!” Batty stood in the passage holding his sides, while Frederick, with disgust on every line of his fine features, strode up-stairs. Innocent followed her cousin wondering. What the man meant, whether he was merry, or angry, or simply the most disagreeable strange man she had ever seen, she could not make out. She remembered vaguely what Frederick had told her so lately--what she had heard repeated on all sides at The Elms--that Frederick’s wife was of “another class.” And the stairs were narrow, the passage contracted, the maid who had opened the door not like the maids at The Elms; and Batty’s dress, and appearance, and manner of speech very different from anything Innocent had ever known before. This was what it meant, then, to be of “another class.” Thus she followed with some new speculations rising in her passive brain, into the presence of Frederick’s wife. CHAPTER XXXII. THE MOMENT OF FATE. Frederick led Innocent to the door of a bedroom which opened from a little gallery up-stairs. He paused there before he opened it. “If we find Amanda in an excitable state, you must not mind it,” he said; “you must not be frightened. Forgive her because she is ill. It is her way----” With these words of warning he opened the door. It was a pretty room enough--meant to be luxurious--in a somewhat tawdry style of decoration, yet tolerable, in so far that its rose-coloured hangings and heavy fringes were fresh at least, and in good order. Amanda was in bed, with a blue dressing-gown over her shoulders, and her elaborately-dressed hair adorned with a small lace cap. Nothing could be gayer than the composition of colour, her own rose-cheeks and golden hair, the bright blue garment in which she was clothed, and the blue ribbon in her little cap, all relieved against the rose-coloured hangings. A perfect Watteau, some one had told her, this composition made, and, though she did not know what a Watteau was, she felt it must be something fine, and kept up the successful combination. Her cheeks were not pale, but flushed with anger, impatience, and excitement. She burst forth almost before Frederick had come into the room.