For a few minutes there was loud talking--from a general impulse to show off before the stranger; then fell a silence, as if some feeling of doubt had got among them. The least affected by it was the footman who had opened the door to her: he had witnessed her reception by Mrs. Perkin. Addressing her boldly, he expressed a hope that she was not too much fatigued by her journey. Mary thanked him in her own natural, straightforward way, and the consequence was, that, when he spoke to her next, he spoke like a gentleman--in the tone natural to him, that is, and in the language of the parlor, without any mock-politeness. And, although the way they talked among themselves made Mary feel as if she were in a strange country, with strange modes, not of living merely, but of feeling and of regarding, she received not the smallest annoyance during the rest of the meal--which did not last long: Mrs. Perkin took care of that. For an hour or more, after the rest had scattered to their respective duties, she was left alone. Then Mrs. Perkin sent for her. When she entered her room, she found her occupied with the cook, and was allowed to stand unnoticed. "When shall I be able to see Mrs. Redmain, ma'am?" she asked, when the cook at length turned to go. "Wait," rejoined Mrs. Perkin, with a quiet dignity, well copied, "until you are addressed, young woman."--Then first casting a glance at her, and perhaps perceiving on her countenance a glimmer of the amusement Mary felt, she began to gather a more correct suspicion of the sort of being she might possibly be, and hastily added, "Pray, take a seat." The idea of making a blunder was unendurable to Mrs. Perkin, and she was most unwilling to believe she had done so; but, even if she had, to show that she knew it would only be to render it the more difficult to recover her pride of place. An involuntary twinkle about the corners of Mary's mouth made her hasten to answer her question. "I am sorry," she said, "that I can give you no prospect of an interview with Mrs. Redmain before three o'clock. She will very likely not be out of her room before one.--I suppose you saw her at Durnmelling?" "Yes, ma'am," answered Mary, "--and at Testbridge." It kept growing on the housekeeper that she had made a mistake--though to what extent she sought in vain to determine. "You will find it rather wearisome waiting," she said next; "--would you not like to help me with my work?" Already she had the sunflowers under her creative hands. "I should be very glad--if I can do it well enough to please you, ma'am," answered Mary. "But," she added, "would you kindly see that Mrs. Redmain is told, as soon as she wakes, that I am here?" "Oblige me by ringing the bell," said Mrs. Perkin.--"Send Mrs. Folter here."'