strictness, no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other answer than such as she herself invariably furnished in a small, innocently-satirical laugh.

“She certainly expressed a willingness to come,” said Mr. Wentworth.

“That was only politeness,” Gertrude rejoined.

“Yes, she is very polite—very polite,” said Mr. Wentworth.

“She is too polite,” his son declared, in a softly growling tone which was habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a vaguely humorous intention. “It is very embarrassing.”

“That is more than can be said of you, sir,” said Lizzie Acton, with her little laugh.“Well, I don’t mean to encourage her,” Clifford went on. “I’m sure I don’t care if you do!” cried Lizzie. “She will not think of you, Clifford,” said Gertrude, gravely. “I hope not!” Clifford exclaimed. “She will think of Robert,” Gertrude continued, in the same tone. 

Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for everyone was looking at Gertrude—everyone, at least, save Lizzie, who, with her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother. “Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?” asked Mr. Wentworth. “I don’t attribute motives, father,” said Gertrude. “I only say she will think of Robert; and she will!” 

“Gertrude judges by herself!” Acton exclaimed, laughing. “Don’t you, Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me from morning till night.” “She will be very comfortable here,” said Charlotte, with something of a housewife’s pride. “She can have the large northeast room. And the French bedstead,” Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady’s foreignness. 

“She will not like it,” said Gertrude; “not even if you pin little tidies all over the chairs.” “Why not, dear?” asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but not resenting it. 

Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound upon the carpet. “I don’t know,” she replied. “She will want something more—more private.” “If she wants to be private she can stay in her room,” Lizzie Acton remarked. 

Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. “That would not be pleasant,” she answered. “She wants privacy and pleasure together.” Robert Acton began to laugh again. “My 

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