At last the door of communication opened, and to her amazement Mrs. Poynsett was pushed into the room by her maid in a wheeled chair.  “Yes, my dear,” she said, in reply to Eleonora’s exclamation of surprise and congratulation, “this is my dear daughters’ achievement; Rosamond planned and Anne contrived, and they both coaxed my lazy bones.”

“I am so very glad!  I had no notion I should see you out of your room.”

“Such is one’s self-importance!  I thought the fame would have reached you at least.”

“Ah, you don’t know how little I see of any one I can hear from!  And now I am afraid I have disturbed you too early.”

“Oh no, my dear; it was very good and kind, and I am only grieved that you had so long to wait; but we will make the most of each other now.  You will stay to luncheon?”

“Thank you, indeed I am afraid I must not:  papa would not like it, for no one knows where I am.”

“You have taken this long walk in the heat, and are going back!  I don’t like it, my dear; you look fagged.  London has not agreed with you.”

Mrs. Poynsett rang her little hand-bell, and ordered in biscuits and wine, and would have ordered the carriage but for Lenore’s urgent entreaties to the contrary, amounting to an admission that she wished her visit to be unnoticed at home.  This was hardly settled before there was a knock at the door, announcing baby’s daily visit; and Miss Julia was exhibited by her grandmamma with great satisfaction until another interruption came, in a call from the doctor, who only looked in occasionally, and had fallen on this unfortunate morning.

“Most unlucky,” said Mrs. Poynsett.  “I am afraid you will doubt about coming again, and I have not had one word about our Frankie.”

“He is very well.  I saw him at a party the night before we left town.  Good-bye, dear Mrs. Poynsett.”

“You will come again?”

“If I can; but the house is to be full of visitors.  If I don’t, you will know it is because I can’t.”

“I shall be thankful for whatever you can give me.  I wish I could save you that hot walk in the sun.”

But as Mrs. Poynsett was wheeled into her own room some compensation befell Eleonora, for she met Julius in the hall, and he offered to drive her to the gates of Sirenwood in what he called ’our new plaything, the pony carriage,’ on his way to a clerical meeting.

“You are still here?” she said.

“Till Tuesday, when we go to the Rectory to receive the two De Lancey boys for the holidays.”

“How Mrs. Poynsett will miss you.”

“Anne is a very efficient companion,” said Julius, speaking to her like one of the family; “the pity is that she will be so entirely lost to us when Miles claims her.”

“Then they still mean to settle in Africa?”

“Her heart has always been there, and her father is in treaty for a farm for him, so I fear there is little hope of keeping them.  I can’t think what the parish will do without her.  By the bye, how does Joe Reynolds get on with his drawings?”