In the hall, which at a glance she saw was square and wide, and felt was flagged with stone, stood a large packing case; and about it and so busy with it that for a second they did not observe her, were a girl and young man, the latter knocking off boards and drawing out nails with his hammer, while the other hovered over the work and watched it absorbedly.  In a moment more they both looked up.  The hammer went down and with a face of illumination Rollo came forward.

‘Why here she is!’ he exclaimed gayly, ’dropped into our hands! and as wet as if she had fallen from the clouds literally.  Here Rosy, carry off this lady to your domains.  This is Primrose Maryland, Miss Kennedy.’

A primrose she evidently was, sweet and good and fresh like one, with something of a flower’s gravity, too.  That could be seen at a glance; also that she was rather a little person, though full and plump in figure, and hardly pretty, at least in contrast with her brilliant neighbour.  Wych Hazel’s first words were of unbounded surprise.

’From what possible part of the clouds did you fall, Mr. Rollo!’—­then with a blush and a look of apology to Miss Maryland, ’I ought to excuse myself; I didn’t know where I was coming.  And my horse quite refused to stand upon more than two feet at once, I found the storm uncomfortable—­and so jumped off and ran in.  It’s the fault of your door for being open, Miss Maryland!’

‘I am very glad,’ said Primrose simply.  ’The door stood open because it was so hot.  We were going to see you this afternoon but the storm hindered us.  Now, will you come up-stairs and get on something dry?’

CHAPTER XII.

AT DR. MARYLAND’S.

They went up a low staircase and along a gallery to Primrose’s room.  Large and low, as nice as wax, and as plain.  How unlike any room at Chickaree, Wych Hazel could not help feeling, while its little mistress was opening cupboards and drawers, and getting out the neatest and whitest of cambric jackets and ruffles and petticoats, and bringing forth all accommodations of combs and brushes.  Meanwhile Wych Hazel could not help seeing some of the tokens about the place that told what kind of life was lived there.  Its spotlessly neat and orderly condition was one token; but there were signs of business.  Work-baskets, with what seemed fulness of work, were about the room; books, not in great numbers, but lying in little business piles, with business covers and the marks of use.  Papers were on one table by the window, with pen and ink and pencil and cards.  And everywhere a simplicity that showed no atom of needless expenditure.  Very unlike Chickaree?

Primrose the while was neat-handedly helping to array her guest in fresh apparel.  She had pretty little hands, and they were quick and skilful; and as she stooped to try on a slipper or manage a fastening, Wych Hazel had a view of a beautiful head of fair brown hair, in quiet arrangement that did not show all its beauty; and when from time to time the eyes were lifted, she saw that they were very good eyes; as reposeful as a mountain tarn, and as deep too, where lay thought shadows as well as sunshine.  They were shining eyes now, with secret admiration and pleasure and good will and eager interest.