’Yes, and I must take my cousin downstairs.  Good-bye for the present, Gypsy.’

Miss Gillespie smiled again when she saw my astonishment at Jill’s familiarity.

’Jocelyn thinks my name too long, and has abbreviated it to Gypsy.  Mrs. Garston was terribly shocked at first, but I told her that it did not matter in the least:  in fact, I like it.’

‘She is such a dear old thing!’ burst out Jill, as we left the schoolroom and proceeded downstairs arm in arm.  ’I never think of her as my governess; she is just a kind friend who helps me with my lessons and walks with me.  We do have such cosy times together.  Does not the schoolroom look nice, Ursie?’

‘Very nice indeed, my dear.’

’So I think; but Sara says it is horrid:  she has made mother promise to give me her room directly she is married.  Sara has a beautiful piano there, and a book-case, and all sorts of pretty things.  It is a lovely room, you know, and looks out over the Park.  Mother thinks it too nice and pretty for a schoolroom; but I am to call it my study and keep it tidy.  And Gypsy is to have the old schoolroom for herself:  so we are both pleased.  It is nice for her to have a room of her own, where she can be alone.’

‘Your mother is very kind to you, Jill.’

’Awfully kind—­I mean very kind:  Gypsy does so dislike that expression.  Do you know, I think you two are rather alike in that?  Gypsy is very unhappy sometimes, though.  I have found her crying more than once when I have left her long alone; only mother does not know, and I don’t mean to tell her, because she thinks people ought always to be cheerful.  It was so sad that clergyman dying,—­the one she was to marry; his name was Maurice Compton.  I saw the name in one of her books:  “Lilian Gillespie, from her devoted friend, Maurice Compton."’

’My dear Jill, how long are you going to keep me standing in the hall?  Clayton will find us here directly.’

‘Yes, I know’; but Jill showed no intention of moving; the prospect of cold tea did not trouble her; ’but I want to tell you something before you go in.  Mother is certainly kinder to me than she ever has been; she says I am to drive with her very often, and that she shall take me to see picture-galleries.  And father is going to buy a horse for me, because he says I ride so well that I may go out with him, as a rule, instead of with a master; and—­’

‘You shall tell me all that presently,’ I returned, ’for I am too tired to stand on this mat any longer.  Are you coming, Jill? or shall I go in without you?’ but of course I knew she would follow me.

The room seemed full when we entered.  Aunt Philippa was at the tea-table; Sara was flitting about the room from one guest to another.  Uncle Brian, who was standing on the hearth-rug, put out his hand to me.

‘I am glad to see you back again, Ursula,’ looking at me with his cool, penetrating glance.  Uncle Brian was never demonstrative.  ’I think the work suits you, to judge by your looks.  Take that chair by your aunt, child, and she will give you some tea.’  And accordingly I placed myself under Aunt Philippa’s wing, while Jill and a boy-officer with a budding moustache waited on me.