All the events of that evening passed like a dream over the mind of Innocent. The warm, curtained, cushioned, luxurious room, with its soft carpets, its soft chairs, its draperies, its fulness and crowd of unfamiliar details, the unknown faces and sounds, the many pictures on the walls, the conversation, quick and familiar, carried on in a language which to be sure she knew perfectly, but was not accustomed to hear about her--all bewildered and confused her. She sat and looked at them with an infantile stare of half-stupefied dull wonder, not altogether understanding what they said, and not at all taking in the meaning even when she understood the words. She made scarcely any response to their many questions. She said “Yes” when they asked if she were tired, but nothing at all in reply to her aunt’s warm and tearful welcome. She felt disposed to wonder why they kissed her, why they unfastened her wraps and put a footstool for her feet before the fire, and made so much fuss about her. Why did they do it? Nothing of the kind would have occurred to Innocent had they gone to her. She did not understand their kindness. It seemed to her to require some explanation, some clearing-up of the mystery. She sat with her lips shut close, with her eyes opened more widely than usual, turning to each one who spoke. She had felt no curiosity about them before she arrived, and she did not feel any curiosity now. They were new, and strange, and wonderful, not to be accounted for by any principles within her knowledge. They placed her by the fire, they took off her hat and cloak, they established her there to thaw, and be comforted. “Dinner will be ready directly--but will you have a cup of tea first?” said Mrs. Eastwood, stroking her lank hair. “No,” said Innocent, “I am not ill.” She thought, as was natural with her Italian training, that tea was a medicine. “Would you like to go up to your room before dinner, or are you too tired, dear?” said Nelly. “I will stay here,” said the girl. This was how she answered them, always gazing at the one who spoke to her, and ever turning to give a wistful look at Frederick, who, for his part, felt himself somehow responsible for the new guest, and annoyed by the wondering looks of his mother and sister. “Let her alone,” he said, with some impatience. “Don’t you see she is frightened and tired, and scarcely understands you? We have been travelling day and night since Tuesday. Innocent, are you very much tired? Should you like to go to bed? or are you able to sit up to dinner? Don’t be afraid.” She looked up at him instantly responsive. She put out her hand to him, and grasped his, though this was a formula which he could have dispensed with. “Are you to sit up to dinner?” she asked. “Then I will too.”