The next morning she was surprised on going downstairs at about nine o’clock, to find a cloth laid over only part of the dining table, and breakfast evidently prepared for one person. She was still gazing at it in astonishment, and wondering what it meant, when Miss Wynward entered the room, to express a hope that Miss Brandt had slept well and had everything that she required. “O! certainly yes! but where are we going to have breakfast?” “Here, Miss Brandt, if it pleases you. I was just about to ask what you would like for your breakfast.” “But the Baron and Baroness--” “O! they started for the manufactory two hours ago. Her ladyship is a very early riser when at home, and they have some four miles to drive.” “The manufactory!” echoed Harriet, “do you mean where they make the boots and shoes?” “Yes! There is a manufactory in Germany, and another in England, where the boots and shoes are finished off. And then there is the shop in Oxford Street, where they are sold. The Baron’s business is a very extensive one!” “So I have understood, but what good can Madame Gobelli do there? What can a woman know about such things?” Miss Wynward shrugged her shoulders. “She looks after the young women who are employed, I believe, and keeps them up to their work. The Baroness is a very clever woman. She knows something about most things--and a good deal that were better left unknown,” she added, with a sigh. “And does she go there every morning?” “Not always, but as a rule she does. She likes to have a finger in the pie, and fancies that nothing can go on properly without her. And she is right so far that she has a much better head for business than the Baron, who would like to be out of it all if he could!” “But why can’t he give it up then, since they are so very rich?” demanded Harriet. Miss Wynward regarded her for a moment, as if she wondered who had given her the information, and then said quietly, “But all this time we are forgetting your breakfast, Miss Brandt! What will you take? An egg, or a piece of bacon?” “O! I don’t care,” replied Harriet, yawning, “I never can eat when I am alone! Where is Bobby? Won’t he take his breakfast with me?” “O! he had his long ago with his Mamma, but I daresay he would not mind a second edition, poor boy!” She walked to the French windows which opened from a rustic porch to the lawn, and called “Bobby! Bobby!” “Yes, Miss Wynward,” replied the lad in a more cheerful tone than Harriet remembered to have ever heard him use before, “what is it?” “Come in, my dear, and keep Miss Brandt company, whilst she takes her breakfast!” “Won’t I!” cried Bobby, as he came running from the further end of the disorderly garden, with a bunch of flowers. “They are for you!” he exclaimed, as he put them into Harriet’s hand, “I gathered them on purpose!” “Thank you, Bobby,” she replied. “It _was_ kind of you!”