Doors were slammed, and then, the light thud of Baby’s footsteps scurrying hither and thither like a rabbit; her calls in the passage brought a vague smile to Lady Gerardine’s lips. Up to a certain point only is the human organisation capable of pain. After that comes the respite of numbness. Rosamond was numbed now. Mind and heart alike refused to face the point of agony; only the most trivial thoughts could occupy her brain. Idly she pulled the comb through the warm gold of her hair; idly she weighed which would be the least effort to her weary limbs, that of twisting up those tresses herself or rising to ring the bell for Jani. Presently her eyes wandered to the portrait that hung just over her dressing-table. She shifted both candlesticks to one side to throw their light full upon it. Baby came in as upon the wings of a gust of wind. "The most dreadful thing," she panted, in a flurried whisper; arrested herself in her canter across the room, and plunged back to shut the open door; "my poor, poor darling: they’re going to stay the night!" Lady Gerardine flung apart the girl’s arms as if the embrace strangled her. Their eyes met in the mirror. Then the woman shot a glauce round the room, a glance so desperate that the other, child as she was, could not but understand. "Oh, you’re safe—safe for the moment anyhow," she blurted out; "I’ve been lying like Old Nick. I said you’d just taken a phenacetin, and that if you were disturbed now you wouldn’t be fit to lift your head all the evening. But you’ll have to come down to dinner; you can get bad again afterwards, can’t you? Runkle’s quite injured already. He’s been having such a jolly time lately; he thinks it harder than ever on him that you should still be ill. And Lady Aspasia——" "Lady Aspasia," repeated the other, mechanically. "Yes, that abominable woman with the ridiculous name, she’s there! And Dr. Châtelard; you remember, the pudgy Frenchman? We’ve got to house them all somewhere, and to feed them. It’s desperate——" Aspasia checked her speech; for Lady Gerardine had risen from her chair with an abrupt movement and stood staring blankly into the mirror. Poor Aspasia had had sufficient experience already of her aunt’s moods, but this singular attitude affected the girl in so unpleasant a fashion that she felt as if she ought to shake the staring woman, pinch her, shout at her, do anything to call her out of this deadly torpor! "Aunt Rosamond," she cried, raising her voice sharply in the hope of catching the wandering attention, "I’ve told Sarah about the rooms, and ordered fires to be lit; and I’ve seen Mary about the dinner. The poor Old Ancient House, Runkle’s crabbing it already like anything! But we’ll show them it can be hospitable, won’t we?" "Yes," said Rosamond, "yes." The hectic colour deepened on her cheek. The widened unseeing pupil contracted with a flash of answering light. "Baby, you’re a good child. It shall give the right hospitality—his house."