Sitting in a low chair, with folded hands on her knee, and looking younger than she was, she listened, smiled, and answered quietly while she studied the faces ringing her. She saw Mr. and Mrs. Waring deciding that she was a nice little thing, not pretty, not clever, but possessed of the vague niceness necessary for the complete young lady. That was not sufficient tribute for Theresa, and she awaited the opportunity to make Mr. Waring laugh. It came, she seized it with some audacity, and the old gentleman's guffaw acknowledged her. Her lifted brows wondered at his amusement, but her mouth betrayed her. A pale flush of excitement was in her cheeks. Mrs. Waring and her daughters were smiling politely, while the head of the family leaned back in his chair to laugh, and, between his cackles, he repeated the joke to Morton. Morton, too, smiled politely; the humour did not reach him and, a little ashamed of his guest's clamour, he drew him on to agricultural matters; but those stiff smiles were Theresa's triumph, for the joke had been aimed at Mr. Waring alone, and it had hit the mark. The two matrons fell into talk, and, still wearing that gentle look of surprise, Theresa turned to the three young women: she seemed to ask for conversational help, and they gave it in the form of questions. Did she ride? No, she wished she did. She thought Basil was going to teach her. "He rides perfectly." The second Miss Waring looked across the room to where he sat, and in that shy glance Theresa read renunciation, maidenly and empty of all bitterness. "I expect you all do," she said. "No, my sisters don't care for it. I love it." "Basil taught her when she was small. She can ride anything," said the eldest sister proudly. "They hunt together." "We haven't lately, Rose," the other said, and blushed. Theresa leaned forward coaxingly. "Oh, do go next time and let me see you both!" she cried. "It's splendid to see people doing things really well." "Oh, do you think so?" The second Miss Waring controlled a smile. Was she fond of gardening? This question was from the youngest beauty. No, she didn't know anything about it. They only had a patch of rough grass at home, and an apple-tree. There was a pause. It was Rose who returned to the subject of books. "I expect you are a great reader?" "Oh, more or less." "I adore reading. And poetry. Whose poetry do you like best?" "I don't know," said Theresa slowly. She had assured them all of their superiority: they liked her; Mrs. Morton forgot to be nervous, Basil was glad to see her in that group of girls.