“What is Mrs. Austin saying to you, Reine?” asked Kate. “She told me I was nice and quiet,” said Reine, thinking that in honor she was bound not to divulge the rest; and they both laughed at the moderate compliment. “So you are,” said Kate, giving her a little hug. “It is refreshing to be with any one so tranquil--and I am sure you will do us both good.” Reine was not impressed by this as Herbert was by Sophy’s pretty speeches. Perhaps the praise that was given to her was not equally well chosen. The passionate little semi-French girl (who had been so ultra-English in Normandy) was scarcely flattered by being called tranquil, and did not feel that to do Sophy and Kate good by being “nice and quiet” was a lofty mission. What did a racketing set mean? she wondered. An involuntary prejudice against the house rose in her mind, and this opened her eyes to something of Sophy’s tactics. It was rather hard to sit and look on and see Herbert thus fooled to the top of his bent. When she went to the piano beside them, Sophy grew more rational; but still she kept referring to Herbert, consulting him. “Is it like this they do it in Italy?” she sang, executing “a shake” with more natural sweetness than science. “Indeed, I don’t know, but it is beautiful,” said Herbert. “Ask Reine.” “Oh, Reine is only a girl like myself. She will say what she thinks will please me. I have far more confidence in a gentleman,” cried Sophy; “and above all in you, Bertie, who have promised to be a brother to me,” she said, in a lower tone. “Did I promise to be a brother?” said poor, foolish Herbert, his heart beating with vanity and pleasure. And the evening passed amid these delights. CHAPTER XLIII.