'I never was famed for being wise,' said Hazel, her spirits taking a little spring as the fire went down. But she turned and went in, and stood before the peaceful fire on the hearth, looking into its red depths. Primrose sat down, but with a different face, sober and meditative in another way. Gyda went out to her kitchen. Perhaps Hazel was tired of standing, for she presently knelt down on the hearth stone, holding out her fingers to the blaze, covered with the red light from head to foot. She looked rather pale, through it all. 'Prim,' she said suddenly, 'did you ever stay all night up here?' 'No. Never.' 'Then of course you do not know where we are to make believe sleep.' 'I suppose it will be in that room where our things were laid. Mrs. Boërresen will tell us. Hazel, will you mind, if I say something I want to say?' 'I cannot tell whether I shall mind or not.' 'Shall I say it?' 'Yes, if you want to,' said Hazel, devoting herself to the tongs and the fallen brands. 'It is only just this.—What are you going to do about dress?' If ever anybody was astonished, it was perhaps Miss Kennedy just then. 'Dress!' she echoed, looking at Primrose and then down at the trim, invisible brown riding-habit, which, looped up and fastened out of the way had been perforce retained through the evening. Very stylish, no doubt, as all her dresses were; though in this case the best style happening to be simplicity, the brown habit with its deep white linen frills was almost severely plain. 'Prim,—I have not the faintest idea what you mean!' 'I don't mean now, to-night, of course.' 'Any time. What do you mean by "do"?' 'Manage—' said Prim. She looked as if she were searching into the subject, with a doubtful mood upon her. She went on. 'Do you suppose Dane would like you to dress as you have been accustomed to do?' Wych Hazel rose to her feet. Whatever Mr. Rollo's own right to comment upon her or her dress might be, she was not in the least disposed to take the comments at second hand. 'I should think your recollection might tell you,' she said, 'that Mr. Rollo feels quite free to find fault with me whenever he sees occasion.' 'But Hazel,' said Prim meekly,—'don't be angry,—Do you want to wait for that?' Hazel gave a half laugh. 'People always think I am angry,' she said.—'I wonder if I am such a tempest?' 'You are not a tempest at all,' said Prim still meekly; 'not now, certainly; but I know you can feel things, and I don't want you to feel anything I say, except pleasantly. Indeed I don't, Hazel.' 'I'm glad you think I can feel things, but I suppose my comprehension is less lively. I do not even know what "managing" about my dress would be. I never "manage"!' said Hazel, with a fierce onset upon the brands. 'I know you haven't. But don't you think—perhaps—you will have to? Don't you think it will be best?'