"Do you think you will like your room?" asked Edna demurely; but there was a gleam of fun in her eyes as she put the question, for she had a vivid remembrance of Bessie's room at home; the strips of faded carpet, the little iron bedstead, and painted drawers; and yet it had been a haven of rest to her that night, and she had slept very sweetly on the little hard bed. "It is far too grand for me," returned Bessie candidly. "I shall feel like a fine lady for the first time in my life." And she looked round her with admiring scrutiny, noting every detail--the wax candles and hot-house flowers on the toilet-table, the handsome wardrobe and cheval-glass, the writing-table with its dainty appendages, and the cosy-looking couch; even the brass bedstead, with its blue cretonne hangings, and frilled pillow-cases, demanded some fresh comment. "I think it is a lovely room, and far too good for me," finished Bessie. "All our rooms are very comfortable," was the careless response; "but one is too used to this sort of thing to notice it. Now shall I send Brandon to help you? She is our maid, and understands hair-dressing perfectly. She will help you unpack and arrange your things." "Oh, no, thank you!" returned Bessie, in such an alarmed voice that Miss Sefton laughed; and then she continued, in rather a shamefaced manner: "You see I am not like you, Miss Sefton. I have not been used to luxuries and being waited on; we are plain people, and wait on ourselves." "Just as you like," was the indifferent answer. "Brandon is the comfort of my life, though she is such a cross old thing. Now, Bessie--I am going to call you Bessie, and I beg you to lay aside the stiff Miss Sefton--you must tell me if I can lend you anything, or help you in any way. And you are not to trouble about making yourself smart, for we have no one coming to dinner to-day, and I shall only put on an old dress. We are in the country now, and I don't mean to waste my fine London gowns on Richard, who calls every material dimity, and never knows whether one is dressed in velvet or sackcloth." Bessie smiled, and then asked if she might use any of the flowers on her toilet-table. "My dear child, just look behind you," was the amused answer; and Bessie saw a breast-knot of lovely crimson roses on the writing-table. "Those are for your use to-night, but if you will let me know every morning what color you want for the evening, I will tell Brandon." As Bessie was unpacking, she heard a faint scratching at her door, and on opening it found, to her great surprise, Mac, the deerhound, sitting on his haunches, with a very pleading look in his beautiful brown eyes. "You may come in if you like, old fellow," she said, wondering at his sudden friendship for a stranger; and, sure enough, the hound walked in and stretched himself under the writing-table, with his nose between his paws, quietly observant of every movement.