"Mamsie is always glad to have her boy; always!" as Keith sprang upon her. "It's as snowy as can be. Such a lot of white. Mamsie, what does father mean. He says I'm to have a jolly new playfellow." "You don't want a playfellow, do you? You are quite happy with Mamsie, and nurse, and all the pets." "Ah, but I should like a boy!" "But this isn't a boy. It is only a girl—a big dull girl, twice as old as you." "Twice six is twelve." "Clever boy! Well, she is fifteen—a great deal more than twice as old. No companion for you, and much too big to play games. She will only be in the way." "I don't want a girl. If it was a boy, I should like it." "Ah, it isn't a boy. Only a girl, and a tiresome grown-up lady, who is ill, and who will give no end of trouble, and not like the least noise. You will have to creep up and downstairs like a mouse now." "Mamsie, don't you like them to come?" "I hate it, Keith." Theodosia hid her face. "I can't bear to have them here. It makes me miserable. But you mustn't tell father, because he would be so vexed." "No, I won't. And I shall hate them too." Keith doubled his little fist. "I won't like them, and I won't play with the little girl; and I'll make lots of noise; and I won't care what nobody says. Mamsie, I wish you wouldn't cry! Why do you? Why mayn't I tell father you don't like them? Why must they come, Mamsie?" Quarrington Cottage stood alone near the middle of a long lane, over two miles from the outskirts of Bristol. There was a village less than half-a-mile off—"the village" to the neighbourhood. It was not peculiarly pretty country, even in summer, being somewhat too flat, though distant hills might be seen: and now, under a sheet of snow, it was monotonous. But Dr. Bryant never found it monotonous, never wearied of the quiet. He was always happy in the country, always miserable in a town. Health and spirits failed him immediately, under the oppression of a crowd of human beings, while to his wife such a crowd was a very elixir of delight. Still, Dr. Bryant had made no secret of these his tastes before marriage. Theodosia knew, or she might have known, all about the matter. He attempted to hide nothing; and if she failed to understand, the fault lay in her own dulness of perception. To some extent she had understood, for she had professed to agree with him, and had expatiated on the delights of getting away from town into country; only she had failed to emphasise the fact that it was getting away which she liked, and by no means remaining. Dr. Bryant loved his country home all the year round, in all seasons, and in all weathers. Theodosia liked a country-house—including plenty of guests—for a few weeks in summer or autumn. These diverse views had not been sufficiently weighed before marriage: or if Theodosia had recognised them, she had reckoned too much on her own influence, too little on the steadiness of Dr. Bryant's will.