Waveney felt relieved when dinner was over. Doreen was very kind and pleasant, but she was not a great talker, and hardly knew how to interest her young companion. "Girls were more in Althea's line," she said to herself, "Althea had such marvellous sympathy and understood them so thoroughly. She herself got on better with older women;" and once or twice she smiled in an amused way when she lifted her eyes from her plate and saw the little figure in white opposite her. "She reminded me of one of Moritz's pictures," she said, afterwards to Althea. "Whichever could it be? I have been puzzling myself all dinner-time. The white frock makes her look more like a child than ever; her eyes are lovely, but she is not pretty." "Not exactly; but I like her face. I expect you mean that picture of Undine. Yes, she is wonderfully like it, only this Undine has her soul. By the bye, we have not seen Moritz for an age. I shall write to Gwendoline and tell her that her boy is up to mischief." When Waveney returned to the library she found that one or two shaded lamps had been lighted, but that Althea was still seated in the darkest corner of the room. She bade Waveney draw up a chair beside her. "My head is too confused to listen to reading," she observed; "so you shall just talk and amuse me. Tell me anything about yourself, or Mollie, or your brother; everything human interests me, and nothing in the world pleases me better than to listen to the story of other people's lives." Waveney laughed; but she was a little embarrassed, too. "Shall I tell you about my dear old men at the Hospital?" she said, rather nervously; and Althea concealed her disappointment, and said, "Yes, certainly; tell me anything you like." And so Waveney began; and as usual her narrative was very picturesque and graphic. But lo and behold! before many minutes were over she had crossed the green sward, and the lime avenue, and was standing in fancy before a certain high, narrow house, with vine-draped balcony, and an old courtyard; and as she talked her eyes were shining with eagerness. And now the beloved names were on her lips--father and Mollie and Noel. Althea almost held her breath as she listened. "Oh, we were so happy!" exclaimed the girl. "I think no one could have been happier--we were never dull, not even when Noel was at school and father away; but, of course, we liked the evenings best!" "Oh, yes, of course," echoed Althea, softly. "I think the winter evenings were best," returned Waveney, reflectively, "because we could make up such a lovely fire. Father was often cold and tired, but he always smiled when he saw our fire, and sometimes we would roast chestnuts--that was Noel's treat--and tell stories, and sing. Father has such a beautiful voice, and so has Mollie, and when they sing in church, people look round and wonder who they are." "Your brother is happy at school, then?"