“Excuse me, Mrs. Markham,” I returned quickly, “I cannot have the children disturbed at bedtime; it is against Mrs. Morton’s rules. Master Rolf may pay us a visit to-morrow, if he be good”—laying a stress on _good_—“but I cannot admit him to-night.” She looked at me with haughty incredulity. “I consider this very impertinent,” she muttered, half to herself. But Judson must have heard her. “Come with me, Rolf darling. Never mind about your cousins. I daresay we shall find something nice downstairs,” and she held out her hand to him, but he pushed it away. “Bring him to the drawing-room, Judson,” she said, coolly, not at all discomposed by his rudeness; but I could see my firmness had offended her. She would not soon forgive my excluding Rolf. Rolf waited till she was out of sight, and then he recommenced his kicks. I exchanged a glance with Judson; her harassed face seemed to appeal to me for help. “Master Rolf,” I said, indignantly, “you call yourself a gentleman, but you are acting like an ill-tempered baby, and I shall treat you like one,” and to his intense astonishment I lifted him off the ground, and, being pretty strong, managed to carry him, in spite of his kicks and pinches, down to the hall, followed by Judson. Probably he had never been so summarily dealt with, for his kicks diminished as we descended the stairs; and I left him on the hall mat, looking rather subdued and ashamed of himself. I had gained my point, but I felt out of heart as I went back to the nursery. I had entered the house prejudiced against Mrs. Markham, and our first interview had ended badly. My conscience justified me in my refusal to admit Rolf; but all the same, I felt I had made Mrs. Markham my enemy. Her cold eyes had measured me superciliously from the first moment. Very probably she disapproved of my appearance. With women of this calibre—cold, critical, and domineering—poor gentlewomen would have a chance of being sent to the wall. When the children were asleep I seated myself rather disconsolately by the low nursery window. Hannah had been summoned to the housekeeper’s room to see her sister Molly, and had left me alone. I felt too tired and dispirited to settle to my work or book; besides, it was a shame to shut out the moonlight. The garden seemed transformed into a fairy scene. A broad silvery pathway stretched across the park; curious shadows lurked under the elms; an indescribable stillness and peace seemed to pervade everything; the flowers and birds were asleep; nothing stirred but a night moth, stretching its dusky wings in the scented air, and in the distance the soft wash of waves against the shore. I laid my head against the window frame, and let the summer breeze blow over my face, and soon forgot my worries in a long, delicious day-dream. Were my thoughts foolish, I wonder!—mere cobwebs of girls’ fancies woven together with moonbeams and rose scents!