"Any difference!" she repeated, "I don't see what difference your being with us _could_ make, except the pleasure of having you. You see, in a country-house there is always a good deal of coming and going--there are not the `told-off' hours and days as in London. But, by-the-by," she added suddenly, "I did not see your maid at the station. Have you not brought her?" "N-no," said Miss Norreys, "I said to Mrs Maryon, when I wrote, that I could do without her, I thought." "Oh, of course it will be all right," said Winifred, quickly, at once thinking of the expense for her friend. "Nothing will be easier than for--But here we are," she broke off, as at that moment the train slackened, and she turned to gather together the odds and ends lying about the carriage. "Just put them near the door. Dawson will see to them," she went on. Then she added, with a little rising colour, "Don't you think--_would_ you mind calling me `Winifred'? before my own people, you know. I would so like it." "I will try," said Hertha, smiling. "I may forget sometimes, but as you wish it, I will try." "Thank you," replied Winifred. "Oh, there is Louise. Poor dear old Louise! She loves coming to meet arrivals. She is not very `interesting,' you know--just a girl of the old type, but as good as gold. You need not be more with her than you like, if she bores you." "I am not afraid of that," said Hertha; "very few people bore me. But you have scarcely ever mentioned her to me. Which is she?" as she ran her eye along the platform, where they were just drawing up, and seeing no one quite answering to her mental picture of the probably dowdy, certainly commonplace, ungifted "home" sister. "Not that--" How glad she was afterwards that she had never completed the sentence! The person she was on the point of pointing out was a remarkably plain, indeed, shabby, little young woman, barely answering to the word "lady," even in its most conventional sense. No, no, that _could_ not be a sister of Winifred's, still less of beautiful Celia's. "Oh, what pretty ponies!" she went on, hastily, as she caught sight of a charming low carriage, just visible through the station gates, "and what a sweet-looking girl driving them. How her hair glistens in the sunshine!" "Yes," said Winifred, calmly, "that's Louise. Oh, Dawson--yes, take all these little things and bring them up with the luggage. Don't trouble about anything, dear Miss Norreys--they will be all right," as an unexceptionably correct young groom proceeded to load himself with their smaller goods and chattels. CHAPTER NINE. THE WHITE WEEPER. Hertha felt stupefied: but she had the presence of mind to say nothing more, and to wait for the further development of this extraordinary mystification. Winifred, evidently in happy security that their luggage was in good hands, led the way to the pony carriage, where a joyful--