“Nothing could have pleased me better,” said she quite earnestly, “than to find he has some one with him to whom he can take a fancy. It’s half the battle, with a poor child like Caryl, to have faces about him that he likes.” “It’s very kind of you to say so.” “I suppose they didn’t show you my rooms?” she went on. “Really you must see them. Come with me.” “Oh, some other time, Lady Sarah. You must be dreadfully tired after your journey!” “Tired! Not a bit. I’m never tired. Come. I insist.” She carried Rhoda off to her own suite of apartments; and the girl was charmed, as indeed she was prepared to be, with the sumptuous elegance and refinement of taste, which were everywhere apparent in the furniture and fittings of the beautiful suite of rooms on the first floor which were specially consecrated to the use of the mistress of the house. All was as different as possible from the richness and heaviness which were the prevailing notes downstairs. Lady Sarah explained this by saying that she had studied her husband’s taste in the fitting up of the library, study and dining-room, as those were the only rooms in which he took an interest. “I didn’t like to part with all the old things. It would have broken his heart, for one thing; and for another, the old furniture, though of course it’s just not old enough, is not so bad after all, and its mature years give a sort of dignity even to mahogany. But up here I am queen, and I have everything just as I like it. Come and see these sweet little French water-colours. Aren’t they too divy for words?” She turned on the electric light with her own hands, and let a flood of soft light upon the silk-panelled walls, pale blue and pink set in white enamel; upon the exquisite mantelpiece with its picture above in the manner of Fragonard; the dainty Sèvres clocks, all telling a different time; the cushions, couches, boudoir piano in a painted case, and all the other luxurious trifles that make up so much of the happiness of women of Lady Sarah’s type. Suddenly the dainty mistress of the place threw herself upon a couch, and beckoned with pretty imperiousness to Rhoda to sit beside her. “Come here,” she said. “I want to ask you something.” She had not yet divested herself of her hat and scarf, though she had thrown off her travelling cloak and given it to her maid as soon as she entered the house, even before receiving the welcoming kiss of Sir Robert. Now she began to pull off her gloves, and as Rhoda slowly obeyed the invitation and sat down beside her, Lady Sarah suddenly bent her head, and said with infantile prettiness: “Do help me to find the hatpins. I’ve been wearing this terrible hat all day!”