"I call this big, too," remarked Waveney, in rather an awed voice. She had never seen such a beautiful room in her life; it was better than any of the dream rooms at Kitlands. The grand oriel window, with its cushioned seat; the carved oak furniture, and bookcases filled with handsomely-bound books; the fine engravings on the walls;--all excited her admiration. But when Althea drew back a curtain and showed her a tiny room hidden away behind it, with a glass-door opening on the terrace, she could not refrain from an exclamation of delight. "Oh, what a dear little room!" she said, quite naturally. "Yes, I call it my cosy nook. But it is not really a room, it is merely a recess." And Waveney thought how well Miss Althea's name suited it. There was a small writing-table prettily fitted-up, an easy-chair, and a work-table. "I am so glad you have taken a fancy to it," went on Miss Althea--and she looked very much pleased--"because this is to be your little sanctum. You see, it would never do for me to have my reader and companion far away from me. And yet I imagine we should both find it irksome to be always together--even my sister and I could not stand that; but, you see, when the curtain is dropped, you will be quite private." "And it is really for me!" and Waveney's eyes sparkled with pleasure. Then Miss Althea smiled, and put her hand kindly on the girl's arm. "I want you to be happy with us, my dear, and not to look upon us as strangers, because in the old days your father was a dear friend of ours. Last night an idea struck me. Do you think you would feel more at home with us if we were to call you by your Christian name? You have such a pretty name, and it is so uncommon." "Oh, please do," returned Waveney, flushing with shy pleasure. "It was silly of me, but I was so dreading that 'Miss Ward;'" and somehow a load seemed lifted off her at that moment. "She is such a little childish thing," observed Miss Althea afterwards; "and yet she has plenty of character. We are very unconventional people, Doreen, you and I; but I never could endure these artificial barriers. My dignity, such as it is, is innate; it does not need bolstering up. I could not be stiff and proper with Everard Ward's daughter;" and then a strangely sad look came into Althea's eyes, as though some ghost from the past had crossed her path; "no, certainly not to Everard Ward's daughter;" and Doreen smiled as though she understood her. Doreen's world was inhabited by warm-blooded human beings; no ghostly visitants ever haunted her. "I am a woman without a story," she would say. "Most people have some sort of romance in their lives--even unmarried women have their unfinished idylls; but my life has been bare prose." But she always laughed when she made these speeches, for there was nothing morbid in Doreen's character. Althea proposed, as the evening was mild and balmy, that they should take a turn in the garden.