While Ida was brushing her hair and fighting against the natural fit of depression caused by her introduction to this cheerful household, there came a knock at the door, and she admitted Mrs. Heron.  That lady was in a soiled dressing-gown, bought at a sale and quite two sizes too large for her, and with a nervous flush, she took from under this capacious garment a small decanter of wine.

“I thought you might like a little, my dear,” she said, as Ida eyed it with astonishment.  “Of course we are all total abstainers here, but we keep a little in the house for medicinal purposes, unknown to John; and it’s a great comfort sometimes when you’re tired and in low spirits.  Let me give you a glass.”

Ida would have liked to have accepted it, and was sorry that her refusal seemed to disappoint Mrs. Heron, who retired as nervously as she had entered.  A few minutes afterwards, before Ida had got over her astonishment at the incident, there came another knock at the door, and Isabel entered in a dressing-gown which was own sister to Mrs. Heron’s.

“I thought there might be something you wanted,” she said, her bold eyes wandering over Ida curiously, and then roaming to the contents of Ida’s dressing-bag which glittered and shone on the dressing-table.

“What long hair you have!  Do you brush it every night?  I don’t mine, not every night; it’s too much trouble.  Are the tops of all those things real silver?  What a lot of money they must have cost!  What a pretty peignoir you have on:  is it real lace?  Yes, I see it is.  You have nice things!” with an envious sigh.  “Don’t you ever have more colour than you’ve got now?  Or perhaps it’s because you’re tired.  You must be quite knocked up, when I come to think of it.”  She dropped her voice and glanced round cautiously.  “Would you like to have a little brandy-and-water?  I’ve got same in my room—­of course the rest don’t know anything about it, father’s teetotal mad—­but I keep a little for when I’m tired and down in the mouth; and when I run out I get some from Joseph’s room.  Of course, he isn’t a total abstainer.  I daresay you guessed that directly you saw him to-night, and weren’t taken in by his ‘late at the office’ business?”

Ida looked at her in amazement, and Isabel laughed knowingly.

“Joseph goes to the theatre and plays billiards,” she said, with sisterly candour.  “He works it very cleverly; he’s artful, Joseph is, and he takes father and mother in nicely; but sometimes I find a theatre programme in his pocket, and marks of chalk on his coat.  Oh, I don’t blame him!  The life we lead in this house would make a cat sick.  It’s like being on a tread-mill; nothing happens; it’s just one dreary round, with mother always whining and father always preaching.  You heard what he said to the servants to-night?  I wonder they stand it.  I should go out of my mind myself if I didn’t get a little amusement going up to the shops and sneaking into a matinee on the sly.  I’m sure I don’t know how you’ll stand it, after the life you’ve led.  What do you use for your hair?  It’s so soft and silky.  I wish I had black hair like yours.  Do you put anything on your hands?  They’re rather brown; but that’s because you’ve lived in the open air so much, I suppose.  I’ll lend you some stuff I use, if you like.”