But these very qualities led to further antagonism on Eleanor Mowbray’s part. They were part of that power of the true lady that in Aline was developed to an almost superhuman faculty and which went entirely beyond any power of which Mistress Mowbray even dreamed and yet without the child making any effort to get it. Aline herself indeed was unconscious of her strength as anything exceptional. She had been brought up by her father, practically alone and had not as yet come to realise how different she was from other children. It was the morning after the discovery of the secret room that Mistress Mowbray had the first indication that Aline had a power that might rival her own. It was a small incident, but it sank deeply and Eleanor Mowbray did not forget it. She was expecting a number of guests to dinner and it looked as though nothing would be ready in time. She rushed to and fro from the hall to the kitchen upbraiding the servants and talking in a loud and domineering tone. But the servants, who were working as hard as the average of their class, became sullen and went about their labours with less rather than more effort. Eleanor Mowbray was furious and finding Aline still at her spinning wheel, where she herself had put her, “’Sdeath child,” she exclaimed, “this is no time for spinning, what possesses you? I cannot get those varlets to work, everything is in confusion,--knaves!--hussies!--go you to the kitchen and lend a hand and that right speedily.” Aline felt sorry for her hostess, who certainly was like enough to have her entertainment spoilt. She had already noticed that the servants in the hall were very half-hearted, so she said, “I will do what I can, Mistress Mowbray, perhaps I might help to get them to work.” “You, indeed,” said the irate lady, “ridiculous child!--but go along and assist to carry the dishes.” Aline rose and passed into the screens and down the central passage to the kitchen. The place was filled with loud grumbling, almost to the verge of mutiny. As the queenly little figure stood in the doorway, the servants nudged each other and the voices straightway subsided. “Hush, she will be telling tales,” said one of the maids quietly. “Nonsense,” said Elspeth, Audry’s old nurse, who was assisting, “surely you know the child better than that.” For a moment or two Aline did not speak and a strange feeling of shame seemed to pervade the place. “Elspeth,” said Aline, while the flicker of a smile betrayed her, “if you run about so, you’ll wear out your shoon; you should sit on the table and swing your feet like Joseph there.” “Now, hinnie, why for are you making fun of an old body?” “I would not make fun of you for anything,” said Aline; “but look at his shoon; are they not fine,--and his beautiful lily-white hands?” “Look as if you never did a day’s work, Joe,” said Silas, the reeve.