The evening passed in a whirl, such as Katherine, altogether unused to the strange mingled life of family occupations and self-indulgence, could not understand. There was not a tranquil moment for the talk and the explanations. Stella ran from room to room, approving and objecting. She liked the state apartment with its smart furniture in which she had herself been placed, but she did not like the choice of the rooms for the babies, and had them transferred to others, and the furniture altered and pulled about to suit their needs. The house had put on a gala air for the new guests; there were fires blazing everywhere, flowers everywhere, such as could be got at that advanced season. Stella sent the chrysanthemums away, which were the chief point in the decorations. “They have such a horrid smell. They make my head ache--they remind me,” she said, “of everything that’s dreadful.” And she stood over the worried maid while she opened the boxes, dragging out the dresses by a corner and flinging them about on the floors. “I shall not want any of those old things. Isn’t there a rag of a black that I can wear now? Kate, you were dreadfully remiss not to order me some things. How can I go downstairs and show myself in all my blues and greens? Oh, yes, of course I require to be fitted on, but I’d rather have an ill-fitting gown than none at all. I could wear one of yours, it is true, but my figure is different from yours. I’m not all one straight line from head to foot, as you are; and you’re covered over with crape, which is quite unnecessary--nobody thinks of such a thing now. I’ll wear _that_,” she added, giving a little kick to a white dress, which was one of those she had dragged out by a flounce and flung on the floor. “You can put some black ribbons to it, Pearson. Oh, how glad I shall be to get rid of all those old things, and get something fit to wear, even if it’s black. I shall telegraph at once to London to send someone down about my things to-morrow, but I warn you I’m not going to wear mourning for a whole year, Kate. No one thinks of such a thing now.” “You always look well in black, my lady, with your complexion,” said Pearson, the maid. “Well, perhaps I do,” said Stella mollified. “Please run down and send off the telegram, Kate; there is such a crowd of things to do.”