Althea started; she was evidently quite unprepared for this. She changed colour slightly. "Are you sure of that, Doreen?" she asked, in a low voice. "You know how many Wards there are--dozens and dozens." "Yes, and I never for a moment imagined that it could be Everard's daughter; but directly she mentioned her address--Cleveland Terrace, Chelsea--of course I recognised her. Wait a minute"--as Althea seemed inclined to interrupt her--"let me make it all clear to you. I put the question to her, 'Is Everard Ward your father?' That was plain enough, was it not? And when she said yes, I managed to glean two or three particulars, that we already know." "Yes, but tell me, all the same;" and Althea's manner was a little eager. "Well, she told me that her mother was dead--we knew that--and that she had a twin sister who was rather lame, and a brother Noel." Then, at the mention of Noel's name, Althea looked a little amused. "What a strange coincidence!" she murmured. "Strange enough, but rather embarrassing. Miss Ward was very _naive_ and frank. It seems the poor man cannot sell his pictures; he has one on hand now. 'King Canute,' she called it, and none of the dealers will look at it. She says her father is very low about it, and that they want the money badly. Well, what now, Althea?" pretending to frown at her; for Althea's face was suffused with colour, and her eyes were very bright. "Poor Everard!" she said, softly. "There is room for another picture in the Porch House." And then a queer little smile came to her lips. "It will be a valuable lesson to the girls." Then Doreen shook her head at her. "It could not be done, you foolish woman. You would be found out." "We must discover another way, then," returned Althea, who was quite in earnest. "Perhaps Thorold will give it house room." "But you must be prudent, dear." "I will be discretion itself. The picture will not be purchased in my name, you can depend on that. I begin to think my nature is not straightforward, I do so love little plots, and underhand schemes. I should have made a good secret conspirator. Now about this girl: if she pleases me, I can see no objection to our engaging her. It is perfectly simple, Dorrie; they are poor, and the girls have to work. Fate, or rather--for it is no joking matter--Providence, has brought her to us. Is it too superstitious to say that I feel that I dare not refuse to take her. It may be another way of helping them." "Yes, but in my opinion, Everard ought to know to whom he is sending her." "Ah, I agree with you there, in spite of my subterranean and complicated schemes. I did not propose any fresh masquerade, as far as the girl is concerned. I am willing to be as open as the day. Now, as we have finished tea, shall I go to your room?" And Doreen smiled assent. Waveney was standing by the window, crumbling some sweet-cake for the peacock. She turned round at the sound of the opening door.