"I saw more of her last winter," said Eugenia, "at the time she stayed a week or so with Mrs Dalrymple--just when Beauchamp first came to Wareborough,"--"and I met him in the fog, and all the world was changed to me," was the unspoken conclusion of her sentence. "Oh yes; I think I remember something about it," said Gertrude, indifferently. "Dear me, was that only last winter? What changes in so short a time!" She sighed softly. Somehow the sigh was irritating to Eugenia; her instinct told her that the reflections accompanying it would not have been gratifying to her to hear. But she little guessed what they actually were. "If I had foreseen it all," thought Gertrude, "I certainly would not have been so eager to prevent Beauchamp's marrying Roma," (for that this would have come to pass had _she_ chosen to encourage it, no power on earth, no protestations of the young lady herself, however earnest, could ever make Mrs Eyrecourt cease to believe): "it would have been far--oh, infinitely better than _this_! Though of course even now nothing could have been so perfectly suitable as Addie Chancellor," and then poor Gertrude sighed. "I am very glad too Roma is coming," she said, amiably, becoming conscious suddenly of the audibleness of her sigh, and feeling a little shocked at herself. "By-the-bye, Eugenia, she sends her love to you and hopes to find you still here." "Thank you," replied Eugenia, rather coldly. But in her heart she did feel very glad of the news. She hoped many things from Roma's advent. Roma was kind and womanly and sensible. She had known Beauchamp all his life, and must understand him thoroughly. _Her_ advice Eugenia would not feel inclined to scorn. Roma could never be patronising; hers was by many degrees too large a nature for anything so small. And though clever mostly in a worldly sense perhaps--clever and satirical and dreadfully _au fait_ of everything--Eugenia did not feel in the least afraid of her. Though she had been everywhere and seen everything and knew everybody; though her education had reached far, in directions where Eugenia Laurence's had never even begun, yet she was not conventional, not spoilt, not incapable of sympathy with the great human universe outside her own immediate sphere. Such at least was Eugenia's ideal Roma--Roma with the bright dark eyes, ready words, and kindly smile. And Mrs Eyrecourt was very glad too. Roma would help her, she hoped, to entertain this pretty, uninteresting wife of Beauchamp's, whom she found such heavy work; for Roma was great at this sort of task--she had quite a knack of getting stupid people to talk, discordant ones to agree, doing it too, with so much self-forgetfulness and tact, that the credit of this comfortable state of things usually fell to Gertrude's own share. "Such a charming hostess! so unselfish and considerate for every one."