Vernon thought that this was a good opportunity to advance Mrs. Bedge's request which he had promised to bear in mind. "There is a charming old lady who offers to become your companion," he said gently. Ida stared and shuddered. "I don't like old ladies. Who is she?" "Mrs. Bedge. She asked me to speak to you because she has lost a lot of money, and is therefore willing to accept a salary as your companion." Frances laid down her work and clasped her hands. "Why, Ida, it's the very thing for you, dear. Mrs. Bedge is so old and so sedate. Then I can attend to my business, knowing you are all right." "Frances," Ida sat up on the sofa and looked reproachfully at her friend, "how can you talk so? I like Mrs. Bedge, who has always been very kind to me, but there is no denying that she is extremely dull. Besides, I have told you that you can have whatever salary you like to ask to make up for losing all your engagements." "And I replied that I wished to be independent," said Miss Hest stiffly; "I don't like living on anyone. That is why I left Gerby Hall. But about Mrs. Bedge, dear; it is really a capital idea." "I shan't entertain it for one moment, and when Mrs. Bedge comes I shall tell her so--with thanks, of course," added Ida as an afterthought. "Why couldn't she speak to me direct?" "Well," Vernon laughed, "it is rather a delicate subject. However, if you won't have her you won't, so there's no more to be said. And might I suggest, Ida, as you really are looking better with the colour that has come into your cheeks at the suggestion, that you should pull up the blind and make the room look more cheerful." Ida jumped up lightly and did as he asked. Her mood had changed with the advent of this tactful young man. "Is there anything more your lordship requires?" she asked with a saucy curtsey. "I should like a cup of tea; you are not hospitable," replied Vernon, delighted by the change in her manner. Ida touched the button of the bell. "You were always greedy, Arthur." Then, when the footman appeared, she gave the necessary orders. "I believe you called less to see me than to get your tea," she ended, laughing quite in her old girlish fashion. "Ida, I don't believe you are ill at all," said Vernon, scrutinising her. "Her imagination makes her ill," put in Frances, who was knitting industriously. "She believes that she is sick, and therefore she _is_ sick." "That is Christian Science," laughed Ida, sitting in a chair instead of returning to lounge on the sofa. "Perhaps you are right, dear. Of course, I have fretted a great deal over poor papa's death, but fretting will not bring him back," she ended with a sigh, and her face clouded over again. "What you want is bright society," Vernon assured her hurriedly. "And you suggest Mrs. Bedge," was Ida's ironical retort.