“We did not know that you were coming so soon,” said she at length; “and I can not tell you how I regret what has happened. It was too hard for you. But we were taken by surprise. I entreat you not to suppose that any thing but kindness was intended.” Edith looked now at Mrs. Dunbar with an earnest scrutiny that was fully equal to the searching gaze of the former. Mrs. Dunbar's tone was cordial and lady-like, but Edith felt repugnance at her use of the word “we.” By that little word she at once identified herself with Wiggins, and made herself in part responsible for the scene at the gate. “Kindness,” said she, “is a strange word to use in connection with that scene, when I found myself forced to part with the only mother that I have known since my own mamma died.” Mrs. Dunbar looked at her in silence, and there came over her face a strange, patient expression that at any other time would have excited Edith's sympathy and pity. Some reply seemed to rise to her lips, but if it was so, it was instantly checked; and after a moment's hesitation she said, in a low voice. “It is cheerless in this room. If you will come with me I will take you where you can be more comfortable.” Saying this, she led the way out, and Edith followed, feeling a little perplexed at Mrs. Dunbar's manner, and trying to understand how it was that she was so identified with Wiggins. She thought she could see an evident kindliness toward herself, but how that could coexist with the treatment which she had received at the gates was rather a puzzle. Mrs. Dunbar led the way up to the second story, and along a corridor toward the right wing. Here she came to a room in the front of the house which looked out upon the park, and commanded an extensive view. There was a well-furnished bedroom off this room, to which Mrs. Dunbar at once led her. “If we had only received notice that you were coming,” said she, “you would have met with a better reception.” Edith said nothing, for once more the word “we” jarred unpleasantly upon her. “Shall you have any objection to occupy this room for to-night?” asked Mrs. Dunbar. “Thank you,” said Edith, “none whatever; but I should like very much to have my luggage. It was taken back to Dalton.” “Taken back?” “Yes. Miss Plympton was not admitted, and my luggage was on the coach.” Mrs. Dunbar made no reply for some moments. “I should feel much obliged if you would send one of the servants to fetch it,” said Edith. “I don't see why not,” said Mrs. Dunbar, in a hesitating voice. “And have you any writing materials?” asked Edith. “I should like to send a few lines to Miss Plympton.” Mrs. Dunbar looked at her with one of those strange, searching glances peculiar to her, and after some hesitation said, “I will look.”