Félicia answered by an apprehensive glance round the room. Lady Philippa Mortimer had not been by any means a luxurious young person, and her favourite decorations appeared to have been hunting trophies. Her room had seemed to her the very acme of comfort, but she had never cared to stay indoors when she could possibly be out, and to the two American girls the place looked woefully bare. But there was a gleam of triumph in Maimie’s eye, and Félicia hid her dismay manfully. Maimie scolded herself for that involuntary glance, and waited. For the first two or three days all went well. It was natural that Félicia should be considered an invalid after the journey, and she was pursued everywhere by Lady Caerleon or her maid, anxious to establish her on the most comfortable sofa that could be found. There was the Castle to explore, too--a small portion at a time, that she might not be fatigued; and if Lord Caerleon was wounded by her audacious and irreverent comments on the family portraits and other valued treasures, he was too hospitable to betray the fact, realising that she fully believed she was entertaining him. But the fatigue even of a six hours’ railway journey is not expected to last for ever, and presently Lady Caerleon hinted to Maimie that she thought it would be far better for Félicia’s health if she would exert herself a little. What was there she would like to do? It was a shock to the busy mistress of Llandiarmid to learn that Félicia could not walk, could not sew or embroider, did not care to sing, play, or draw, and when she read, read nothing but new novels, of which the Castle was conspicuously destitute. Moreover, anything that she was invited to do happened to be one of the very things that hurt her eyes, or made her head ache, or her face flush. In her distress Lady Caerleon took counsel with Maimie, who, though well aware that Félicia would not walk lest it should make her feet large, or work lest it should spoil her hands, did not feel called upon to reveal these reasons. “What do you do in America, if you never go for walks?” asked the perplexed hostess. “Why, we go out riding,” answered Maimie carelessly. “Riding? Why didn’t you tell me before? I never thought Félicia would ride, and it will be an excellent thing for her. There’s Phil’s horse----” “Oh, I don’t mean that. I meant carriage-rides and sleigh-rides.” “Oh, _driving_?” said Lady Caerleon involuntarily. “But she won’t come out with me.” “I guess it’s just because she’s afraid you’ll have her go and see poor folks. We don’t do that sort of thing in America.” “If Félicia is to live here after me, I hope she will be known as a friend in every house on the estate,” said Lady Caerleon seriously. Maimie was silent. The suggestion was too absurd to need argument. Then a happy idea occurred to her. “But Félicia has learnt riding, Lady Caerleon, and if you have a well-mannered horse----”