Certainly the house in Hanbury Square was very smart; it had all been newly got-up, in preparation for the bride. There was new paint outside, and new paint and beautiful wainscots and soft papers within, and there were flower-boxes at every window, and the floors were covered with heavy-piled carpets, and there were knick-knacks and flowers and very costly furniture greeting one at each turn. It was a big house, in short a mansion, with front stairs and back stairs, and rooms innumerable. A very lovely room had been set aside for me. It was called the "Forget-me-not" room, and was on the first floor. I had a bathroom, with hot and cold water laid on, quite to myself; I also had a dressing-room, with a wonderful toilet table and wash-hand stand and appliances for the toilet. And in my bedroom was a great wardrobe made of walnut wood, and the beautiful little bed had lace-trimmed pillow-slips and sheets. Until I entered this room I had never even imagined such luxury. A very neat, quiet-looking girl, who told me her name was Morris, met me on the threshold of my room. "I am your special maid, miss," she said. "Lady Helen said I was to do everything in my power to help you." "But you are not Anastasia," I replied. The girl started back, and stared at me. "Who is Anastasia, miss?" she asked, after a minute's pause. "Oh," I answered, "Anastasia is my dear old nurse; she brought me home from India years and years ago, and afterwards I lost her. I want father to find her again for me, for I really wish her to be my maid." "You will perhaps speak to my mistress, miss," replied Morris, in a demure voice. "Why so?" I asked. "I shall speak to my father, Major Grayson." The girl made no answer, but I noticed that a smile, a peculiar smile, lingered round her lips. "Perhaps, miss," she said, after a pause, "I had best begin to unpack your trunks, for her ladyship and the Major may be here by tea time, and, of course, you will like to be ready to meet them, and you'd wish me to arrange your hair, and help you on with your afternoon frock before they come." I took some keys out of a little bag I wore at my side. "Do as you please," I said. I sat on a low chair and watched her. Then I said, suddenly: "I am horribly sick of dress!" "Oh, miss!" remarked Morris, raising her placid face to mine, for she was on her knees by this time, unfastening my largest trunk, "I did think that young ladies lived for their dress." "Well, I am not one of those young ladies," was my reply. "I never thought of dress until a few weeks ago. I used to put on the dress I was to wear when I first got up in the morning, and I never thought of it again until I took it off to go to bed." "You must have lived in a very quiet way, miss." "I lived in a sensible way," I replied. "I should not like it for myself, miss." "Perhaps not, perhaps you are vain--I can't bear vain people."