“I think Bobby is growing rather too tall to be kissed, and he thinks so too, don’t you, Bobby?” Bobby was about to make some silly reply, when his Mamma interrupted him, “Oh! does he? ’E’ll be wanting to kiss the gals soon, so ’e may as well practise on you first! Come! Bobby, do you ’ear what I say? Kiss ’er!” But Miss Wynward drew up her spare figure with dignity. “No! my lady!” she said quietly, “I do not wish it!” “He! he! he!” giggled the Baroness, as she commenced to mount the stairs, “’e ain’t old enough for you, that’s what’s the matter! Come along, ’Arriet, my dear! I’m dog-tired and I daresay you’re much the same! Let us ’ave some ’ot water to our rooms, Miss Wynward!” Harriet Brandt was now ushered by her hostess into a bedroom on the same floor as her own, and left to unpack her bundles and boxes as she best might. It was not a badly furnished room, but there was too much pomp and too little comfort in it. The mantelshelf was ornamented with some rare old Chelsea figures, and a Venetian glass hung above them, but the carpet was threadbare, and the dressing-table was inconveniently small and of painted deal. But as though to atone for these discrepancies, the hangings to the bed were of satin, and the blind that shaded the window was edged with Neapolitan lace. Harriet had not been used to luxuries in the Convent, but her rooms in the Lion d’Or had been amply provided with all she could need, and she was a creature of sensual and indolent temperament, who felt any rebuff, in the way of her comfort, terribly. There was an un-homelike feeling in the Red House and its furniture, and a coldness in their reception, which made the passionate, excited creature feel inclined to sit down and burst into tears. She was on the very brink of doing so, when a tap sounded on the door, and Miss Wynward entered with a zinc can of hot water, which she placed on the washing-stand. Then she stood for a moment regarding the girl as though she guessed what was in her mind, before she said, “Miss Brandt, I believe! I am so sorry that the Baroness never wrote me with any certainty regarding her arrival, or things would have been more comfortable. I hope you had a good dinner on board!” “No!” said Harriet, shaking her head, “I felt too ill to eat. But it does not signify, thank you!” “But you are looking quite upset! Supper cannot be ready for another hour. I will go and make you a cup of tea!” She hurried from the room again, and presently returned with a small tray on which was set a Sèvres cup and saucer and Apostle teaspoon, with an earthenware teapot that may possibly have cost sixpence. But Harriet was too grateful for the tea to cavil whence it came, and drinking it refreshed her more than anything else could have done. “Thank you, thank you so much,” she said to Miss Wynward, “I think the long journey and the boat had been too much for me. I feel much better now!”