The care was accepted, but with a reservation which the sensitive girl was quick to feel. Gazing on the averted face and pouting lips, she could almost have thought that mamma was vexed with her, had that not been improbable under the circumstances. What was it? Did mamma think she ought to have met the train? Or did she want special tea made for her alone, immediately? Well, that was easily done. "Lie and rest, dear one," she said sympathetically, "and I will just make you a cup of tea; the kettle won't take five minutes to boil." When she returned, with the dainty tray, and the wafer bread and butter, her mother was sitting up, her feet on the ground, her elbows on a small table, crying silently into her ridiculous pocket-handkerchief. This could, of course, only mean complete disaster. With a dreadful sinking of the heart Virginia murmured: "You will tell me all about it when you feel able?" Uncovering her eyes, Mrs. Mynors fixed them reproachfully upon her daughter; and the girl, conscious of some unspoken reproach, felt guilty, though no misdeeds came to her mind. "Virgie," said a hollow voice, as at last the silence was broken, "did Miriam Rosenberg, when you were in town, take you to any picture galleries?" Virgie stood, the picture of astonishment. "Why, yes, we went to the Academy," said she, wonderingly, "and--oh, yes--we went to Hertford House as well." As she spoke the words, the memory of that day, that last day with Gerald, caused the rosy tint to steal up on her pale cheeks. The lynx eyes fixed upon her saw and misinterpreted. "Did you meet a gentleman there?" Still more mystified, Virginia shook her head. "Virginia, think! A dark man, who walked lame." The girl started--yes, her mother was not mistaken, she started quite visibly. "The lame man," she said. "Yes, of course, I remember." Something like fury gleamed in the elder woman's blue eyes as she stood up, confronting her taller daughter. "He was Mr. Gaunt!" she flashed. "What! _That_ was Mr. Gaunt? Was it indeed? Oh, then, perhaps that accounts for it!" "Accounts for what?" "That he looked as if he expected me to bow to him or speak to him--that he looked as if he thought he knew me! I am very like you, mamma, am I not? Everybody says so." "He saw the likeness, and remembers the meeting," muttered Mrs. Mynors, crumpling up her handkerchief into a tight ball with vindictive fingers. "I suppose you thought he admired you very much?" "Not at all," returned the girl at once. "I thought he looked angry or offended. He--he followed us about rather persistently, until Mims and I felt uncomfortable. We went and sat outside, at the top of the stairs, to get out of his way." "Humph! He did admire you, though, for all that! At least, he wants to marry you!" "Wha-a-t!" Virginia was guilty of vulgarity in her amused amaze. "Oh, mummie, don't be silly! He meant you. You have made a mistake."