“It is not usual to do anything of the sort, sir, except in the case of the guest being a very distinguished person or a very dear friend.  My ex-governess is neither.  She shall, however, be treated with all due respect by me so long as she remains under your roof,” quietly replied Cora.

“You had best see to it that she is,” retorted the Iron King, as he stalked up stairs to his own room, followed by his valet.

Cora returned to the drawing room, and seated herself in her arm chair, and put her feet upon her foot-stool, and leaned back, to appearance quite composed, but in reality very much perturbed.  Had she acted well in her manner to her grandfather’s guest?  She did not know.  She could not, therefore, feel at ease.  She certainly did not treat Mrs. Stillwater with rudeness or hauteur; she was quite incapable of doing so; yet, on the other hand, neither had she treated her ex-governess with kindness or courtesy.  She had been calm and cold in her reception of the visitor; that was all.  But was she right?  After all, she knew no positive evil of the woman.  She had only strong circumstantial evidence of her unworthiness.  She recalled an old saying of her father’s: 

“Better trust a hundred rogues than distrust one honest man.”

Yet all Cora’s instincts warned her not to trust Rose Stillwater.

After all, she could do nothing—­at least at present.  She would wait the developments of time, and then, perhaps, be able to see her duty more clearly.  Meanwhile, for family peace and good feeling, she would be civil to Rose Stillwater.  Half an hour passed, and her meditations were interrupted by the entrance of the guest.  Mrs. Stillwater seemed determined not to understand coldness or to take offense.  She came in, drew her chair to the fire, and spread out her pretty hands over its glow, cooing her delight to be with dear friends again.

“Oh, darling Cora,” she purred, “you do not know—­you cannot even fancy—­the ineffable sense of repose I feel in being here, after all the turbulence of the past year.  You read my letter to your dearest grandfather?”

“Yes,” answered Mrs. Rothsay.

“From that you must have seen to what straits I was reduced.  Think!  After having sold everything I possessed in the world—­even all my clothing, except two changes for necessary cleanliness—­to pay my board; after trying in every direction to get honest work to do; I was in daily fear of being told to leave the hotel because I could not pay my board.”

“That was very sad! but was it not very expensive—­for you—­living at the Wirt House?  Would it not have been better, under your circumstances, to have taken cheaper board?”

“Perhaps so, dear; but Captain Stillwater had always made his home at the Wirt House when his ship was in port, and had always left me there when his ship sailed, so that I felt at home in the house, you see.”

“Yes, I see,” said Mrs. Rothsay.