Late in the afternoon of that same day she was sitting in the drawing-room window seat threading beads, when Mother's great friend came to pay a visit. Susan knew her very well. She was a lady who lived near, and often went out with Mother when she had to choose a new bonnet or do shopping. Her name was Mrs Millet; but Mother always called her "dear" or "Emily." Susan did not like her much; so she remained quietly in her corner, and hoped she would not be called out to say "How do you do?" It was a snug corner almost hidden by the window curtain, and Mother had perhaps forgotten she was in the room at all. At any rate no notice was taken of her, and she went on happily with her work, but presently something in the conversation caught her attention. "So you really go on Tuesday, dear?" said Mrs Millet with a sigh. "Yes," said Mrs Ingram; "it's a great undertaking." "It is, _indeed_," agreed Mrs Millet in a deeply sympathetic tone. Then, catching a glimpse of herself in a glass opposite, she patted her bonnet-strings, looked more cheerful, and added, "And how about Susan?" "She goes to Ramsgate on Monday to my Aunt Enticknapp." "Ah," said Mrs Millet. "Quite satisfactory, I suppose?" "Perfectly. I heard this morning. I feared she might not have room because of those Bahia girls, you know." "Exactly," replied Mrs Millet. "Quite _desirable_, I suppose?" "Quite. Susan, you can go upstairs now. It's nearly tea-time. Clear those things away, and shut the door softly." Deeply disappointed, for she felt she had been on the very edge of hearing something about Aunt Enticknapp, Susan slowly put her beads into the box, and advanced to say good-bye to the visitor. "_Good_-bye, darling," said Mrs Millet, kissing her caressingly. "Why, you _are_ a lucky little girl to be going to the sea-side." Her manner was always affectionate, but her voice never sounded kind to Susan, and these words did not make half the impression of Maria's "Por little thing." That remark still lingered in Susan's mind, and as she climbed slowly upstairs to the top of the house, she thought to herself that the only chance now of speaking to Mother was when she came up to see her after she was in bed. That was sometimes very late indeed, often when Susan was fast asleep, and knew nothing about it. "But to-night," she said to herself, "I _will_ keep awake. I'll pinch myself directly I feel the least bit sleepy;" for the mystery surrounding Aunt Enticknapp's house had deepened. Susan had now to wonder what sort of things Bahia girls were, and why she kept them at Ramsgate.