Rotha was dumb meanwhile, and during a longer continuance of this sort of talk; with a variety of feelings at work in her, among which crept a certain flavouring of suspicion. Was she to be _alone_ in her mother's old home at Tanfield? Alone, with companions that could not be companions? Was it any use to question her aunt further? She feared not; yet the questions would come. "What sort of persons are those in the house, aunt Serena?" "Quite sufficient to take good care of you. A man and his wife. Honest people, and kind." "Servants!" "In so far as they are serving me." Antoinette again pressed to be told who they were, was again put off. From the little altercation resulting, Mrs. Busby turned to Rotha with a new theme. "You will not want your New York wardrobe there,--what will you do? Leave your trunk here? That will be best, I think, till you come back again." "O no," said Rotha hastily. "I will take it with me." "You will not want it, my dear. Summer is just here; what, you need up there is some nice calico dresses; those will be just the thing. I will get some for you this very day, and have them cut out; and then you can take them and make them up. It will give you something to do. Your winter wardrobe would be of no service to you there, and to carry it back and forward would be merely trouble and risk." "To leave it here would be risk." "Not at all. There will be somebody in charge of the house." "I prefer to have the charge of my own clothes myself." "My dear, I am not going to take it from you; only to guard the things for you while you are away. They would be out of place in the summer and at Tanfield." "Some would; but they are all mixed up," said Rotha, trying to keep her patience, though the blood mounted into her cheeks dangerously. "They can be separated," said Mrs. Busby coolly. "When your trunks come, I will do that for you." Not if I am alive! thought Rotha; but she remembered the old word--"If it be possible, as much as lieth in you, live peaceably--" and she held her tongue. However, later in the day when Mrs. Busby came in after buying the calicos, the proposition was renewed. She came to Rotha and demanded the keys of the boxes. "Thank you, aunt Serena--I would rather do what I want done, myself." "Very well," said Mrs. Busby pleasantly; "but if you will give me the keys, I will see what I think ought to be done. I can judge better than you can." "I would rather not," said Rotha. "If you please, and if you do not mind, ma'am, I would rather nobody went into my trunk but myself." "Don't be a child, Rotha!" "No, aunt Serena. I remember that I am one no longer." "But I wish to have your keys--do you understand?" "Perfectly; and I do not wish to give them. You understand that." "Your wish ought to give way to mine," said Mrs. Busby severely. "Why?" said Rotha, looking at her with a frank face.