"Well, well, this will be news for master--unwelcome news, I'm thinking," muttered the woman as to herself, but speaking aloud. "Do you mean I shan't be welcome?" asked a strained little voice from the rocking-chair. "Well, dearie, welcome or not, here you are, and here you must stay for to-night, at any rate. You see, Dr. Willett has one child on his hands already, and he's a handful. I doubt if he'll want another. But then, we must all have what we don't want sometimes--eh, miss?" To this Inna sighed a troubled little "Yes." Then Mrs. Grant--for she it was--bethought her to help her off with her jacket and hat, and inquired had she any belongings at the station? Yes, she had a trunk there; and an unknown Will--at least, unknown to Inna--was despatched for it. "But maybe you'd like some tea?" suggested the housekeeper. "Yes, I should, please," the little lady assured her, folding her jacket neatly, as she had been taught. "Well, they're just having tea in the dining-room. Come along." No use for Inna to shrink or shiver, for Mrs. Grant was leading the way to those unknown tea-drinkers of whom she was to form one; the fire-light from the kitchen showing them the way along a passage. Then a door was opened, and the small shiverer thrust in, not unkindly, with the words-- "A little lady come for a bit and a sup with you, sir." Then the door closed, and she was in another fire-lit room. A lamp, too, burnt on a table in front of a wood fire, on which was laid a quaint old-fashioned tea equipage, with a hissing urn, and all complete. On the hearth knelt a lad, making toast; and by his side, leaning against the mantelpiece, was a tall man--red-haired, with streaks of grey in that of both head and closely-clipped beard. He had keen grey eyes, which seemed to scan Inna through; a small mouse-like figure by the door, afraid to advance. "Oscar, where are your manners?" asked the gentleman, "to treat a lady in this way, when she's thrust upon you?" Thrust: here was another word which seemed to say she was not welcome. "I beg your pardon," lisped the child, thinking she ought to speak. "No, no; a lady is very like a king--she never does wrong or needs pardon; 'tis this great lout of a boy here that is the aggressor." Whereupon the somewhat awkward, shy lad on the hearth laid down knife and toasting-fork, and came towards her. "Well, whoever you are, will you please sit here?" said he, setting her a chair by the table, and taking another himself behind the urn. "With a lady in the room, you'll never do that," said the gentleman, spying comically at him from where he still stood on the hearth, as the boy began to brew the tea. "Oh no, thank you; I couldn't manage the urn," said Inna. "I thought not," growled Oscar, a big, handsome, fair-haired boy of eleven, with grey-blue eyes. "And now, here I am without a cup for you."