Their entrance was the important one of the afternoon, and Lady Ada and Sir Patrick could not do enough to greet and make them welcome.

The saloon was so large and the screens so well arranged, that for the first few seconds neither of the ladies perceived the fact of Theodora’s presence.  But when it burst upon them, both experienced unpleasant sensations.

Lady Harrowfield’s temper was bad in any case on account of the weather, and here, on her arrival, that she should find the impertinent upstart who had made her look foolish at the Anningford luncheon, was an extra straw.

Morella felt furious.  It began to dawn upon her this might be Hector’s reason in coming, not herself at all; and one of those slow, internal rages which she seldom indulged in began to creep in her veins.

Thus it was that poor Theodora, all unconscious of any evil, was already surrounded by three bitter enemies—­Mildred, Lady Harrowfield, and Morella Winmarleigh.  It did not look as though her Whitsuntide could be going to contain much joy.

It was a good deal after six o’clock by now.  Bridge-tables had already appeared, and most of the company had commenced to play.  Barbara saw the look in Mildred’s eye as she came across, and, ignoring Theodora quite, tried to carry off Lord Wensleydown.

“You must come, Freddy,” she said.  “Lady Harrowfield wants to begin her rubber.”

Barbara, knowing what this move meant, and blushing for her cousin’s rudeness, nervously introduced Theodora to her.

“How d’ do,” said Mildred, staring over her head.  “Don’t detain Lord Wensleydown, please, because Lady Harrowfield hates to be kept waiting.”

Theodora rose and smiled, while she said to Barbara:  “I am rather tired.  Mayn’t I go to my room for a little rest before dinner?”

“Take him, Lady Mildred, do,” said Hector; “we don’t want him,” and he laughed gayly.  His beautiful, tender angel might be a match for these people after all.  At any rate, he would be at her side to protect her from their claws.

Lord Wensleydown frowned.  Mildred was being a damned nuisance, he said to himself, and he insisted upon accompanying Theodora to the bottom of the great staircase, which rose to magnificent galleries in the hall adjoining the saloon.

Sir Patrick had advanced and engaged Josiah in conversation.

He knew his guests’ ways and how they would boycott him, and, with a serious question like those Australian shares on the tapis, he was not going to have Josiah insulted and ruffled just yet.

“Don’t stay up-stairs all the time,” Hector had managed to whisper, while Mildred and Lord Wensleydown stood arguing; “they are sure not to dine till nine; there are two hours before you need dress, and we can certainly find some nice sitting-room to talk in.”

But Theodora, with immense self-denial, had answered:  “No, I want to write a long letter to papa and my sisters.  I won’t come down again until dinner.”