Just before they started Phillis observed rather shortly that she should call at the White House to make inquiries after Mrs. Cheyne, and that she would came back to the Friary to fetch Nan for a country walk. "If I do not appear in half an hour, you must come in search of me," finished Phillis, with a naughty curl of her lip, to which Nan with admirable tact returned no answer, but all the same she fully intended to carry out the injunction; for Nan had imbibed her mother's simple old-fashioned notions, and a lurking dislike of Mrs. Williams's lodger had already entered her mind. As Phillis did not enjoy her errand, she put on the best face she could, and hurried down the Braidwood Road as though her feet were winged like a female Mercury; and Mr. Dancy, who happened to be looking over the wire blind in the little parlor, much admired the girl's free swift gait as she sped down the avenue. Evans, the young footman, admitted her, and conducted her at once to the drawing-room; and great was Phillis's surprise and discomposure when she saw Mrs. Cheyne sitting alone reading by one of the windows, with her greyhounds grouped around her. She started slightly at the announcement of Phillis's name, and, as she came forward to greet her, a dark flush crossed her face for a moment; then her features settled into their usual impassive calm, only there was marked coldness in her voice. "Good-evening. Miss Challoner: you have chosen a fine evening for your visit. Let me beg of you never again to venture to the White House in such a storm." Phillis stammered out something about hoping that she was better, but she interrupted her almost abruptly: "Much better, thank you. I am afraid you found me decidedly strange yesterday. I had what people call a nervous attack: electricity in the air, a brooding storm, brings it on. It is a pity one should be so childish as to dread thunder; but we are oddly constituted, some of us." She shrugged her shoulders, as though to dismiss the subject, and stroked the head of the greyhound that lay at her feet. Poor Phillis found her position decidedly embarrassing. To be sure, Miss Mewlstone had warned her of the reception that she might expect; but all the same she found it very unpleasant. She must not abridge her visit so much as to excite suspicion; and yet it seemed impossible to carry on a comfortable conversation with Mrs. Cheyne in this freezing mood, and, as Phillis could think of nothing to say, she asked after Miss Mewlstone. "Oh, she is very well," Mrs. Cheyne answered, indifferently. "Nothing ever ails Barby: she is one of those easy-going people who take life as they find it, without fuss and grumbling." "I think she is very nice and sympathetic," hazarded Phillis.