"Yes, dear," said Eugenia. "You shall come to my room, or perhaps you and I will go out into the garden together. Now I must run down quick to breakfast." She left the child with a kiss, but when she got to the dining-room door, happening to glance back again, there was the shaggy head pressed against the bannisters, the funny eyes peering down after her. "What a queer little girl!" thought Eugenia. "I wonder if her mother was like her at her age? How odd it sounds to hear a child talking about not liking her nearest friends. I wonder if Mrs Eyrecourt and Roma dislike children?" On the whole Eugenia had felt agreeably disappointed in her sister-in-law. Gertrude looked so young and pretty compared to what she had expected; there was nothing formidable about her. "I dare say we shall get on very well," thought the bride, quite satisfied with this reasonable anticipation. With all her impulsiveness she had never been given to sudden or vehement friendships, Sydney had been to her all that she wished for in this direction; but she was sincerely anxious to please her husband by responding cordially to whatever friendly overtures this sister of his, of whom he evidently thought so highly, might seem disposed to make. So far only one thing had repelled Eugenia; Mrs Eyrecourt had seemed almost to forget the night before what a complete stranger Beauchamp's wife still was to all their family interests and connections. "Or perhaps," thought Eugenia, with a little pang, "she takes it for granted that I know more, that he has told me more than is the case. She may not know," she added to herself, as if to suggest a ground of consolation, "how little opportunity there was for anything of the kind before we were married. And, after all, it was natural they should have a good deal to talk about, only seeing each other for one night and so much having happened since they met, and three are always an awkward party." Still no doubt she had felt a little lonely; and, inexperienced as she was, she had missed vaguely what she hardly knew she had expected--the being "made-of," perhaps, as he would have been at home had Beauchamp taken her there for her first bridal visit instead of to Winsley--the sort of pleasant little temporary prestige that seems to come naturally to every young wife in the first blush of her new life. None of this had met her at Winsley. Tired as she was, she had dug deep down into one of her trunks to find the pretty simple bride-like dress which Sydney had begged her to keep fresh for the momentous occasion of "being introduced to Captain Chancellor's friends;" but, so far as her two companions were concerned, it had seemed to Eugenia she might as well have kept on her travelling dress--better perhaps, for it was dark grey and would have seemed more in accordance with Mrs Eyrecourt's deep mourning attire, which, it did strike her sister-in-law, she might for the first evening of their arrival have laid aside.