But it was only Susan, who gave no sign of astonishment at the change. She had come to see if she could help Miss Henrietta to unpack, but Henrietta had already laid away her meagre outfit in the walnut tallboy with the curved legs. Susan, however, would remove the trunk, and if Miss Henrietta would tell her what dress she wished to wear this evening, Susan would be able to lay out her things. The tin trunk clanked noisily though Susan lifted it with tactful care, and Henrietta blushed for it, but the aged portmanteau, bearing the initials _R. M._, became in the discreet presence of Susan a priceless possession. “It’s full of books,” Henrietta said; “I won’t unpack them. I thought my aunts would let me keep them somewhere. They are my father’s books.” “There’s an old bookcase belonging to Mr. Reginald in the box-room,” Susan said; “I’ll speak to Miss Caroline about it.” “Did you know my father?” Henrietta asked at once. “Yes, Miss Henrietta,” Susan said. “Do you think I’m like him?” “It’s a striking likeness, Miss Henrietta,” and warming a little, Susan added, “I was just saying so to Cook.” “Did Cook know him, too?” “Oh, yes, Miss Henrietta. Cook and I have been with the family for years. If you’ll tell me which dress you wish to wear—” “There’s only one in the wardrobe,” Henrietta said serenely, for suddenly her shabbiness and poverty mattered no longer. She was stamped with the impress of Reginald Mallett, whom she had despised yet of whom she was proud, and that impress was like a guarantee, a sort of passport. She had a great lightness of heart; she was glad she had left Mrs. Banks, glad she was in her father’s home, and learning from Susan that the ladies rested in their own rooms after luncheon, she decided to go out and look on the scenes of her father’s youth. § 2 This was not, she told herself, disloyalty to her mother, for had not that mother, whom she loved and painfully missed, sent her to this place? Her mother was generous and sweet; she would grudge no late-found allegiance to Reginald Mallett. Had she not said they must remember him at his best, and would she not be glad if Henrietta could find bits of that best in this old house, in the streets where he had walked, in the sights which had fed his eyes?