’I have been that’—­he said, as he led her into a room on the right of the hall.

This room took in the whole depth of the house, having windows on three sides; low, deep windows, looking green, for the blinds were drawn together.  The ceiling was low, too; and from floor to ceiling, everywhere except where a door or window broke the space, the walls were lined with books.  There was here no more than up stairs evidence of needless money outlay; the furniture was chintz covered, the table-covers were plain.  But easy chairs were plenty; the tables bore writing-materials and drawing-materials and sewing-materials; and books lay about, open from late handling; and a portfolio of engravings stood in a corner.  Rollo put his charge in an easy chair, and then went from window to window throwing open the blinds.  The windows opened upon green things, trees and flowers and vines; the air came in fresher; the rain was softly falling fast and thick, and yet the pale light cheered up the whole place wonderfully.

‘Your windows are all shut, Rosy!’ said Rollo as he went from one to the other—­’is that the way you live?  You must keep them open now I am come home!’

’It was so hot,’—­said the voice of Rosy from the hall.

‘Hot? that is the very reason.  What are you about?  Rosy!—­’

He went to the door, and then from where she sat Wych Hazel could see the prompt handling which Rosy’s endeavours to put away the disorder received.  She was taken off from picking up nails, and dismissed into the library; while Rollo himself set diligently about gathering together his boards and rubbish.  Primrose came in smiling.

‘It is better with the windows open,’ she said; ’but I was so busy this morning I believe I forgot.  And father never comes into this room till evening.  How it rains!  I am so glad!’

And taking a piece of work from a basket, she placed herself near Wych Hazel and began to sew.  It was a pretty home picture, such as Wych Hazel—­in her school life and ward life—­ had seen few.  Just why it made her feel quiet she could not have told.  Yet the brown eyes went somewhat gravely from Primrose at her work to the hall where Rollo felt so much at home—­then round the room and towards the window, watching the rain.

‘Won’t you give me some work?’ she asked suddenly.

‘O talk!’ said Primrose, looking up.  ‘Don’t work.’

‘It takes more than work to stop my mouth,’ said Wych Hazel, ’Ah, I can work, though you don’t believe it, Miss Rosy; do please give me that ruffle—­or a handkerchief,—­don’t you want some marked?  I can embroider like any German.’

Primrose doubted her powers of sewing and talking both at once; but finally supplied her with an immense white cravat to hem, destined for the comfort of Dr. Maryland’s throat; and working and chatting did go on very steadily for some time thereafter, both girls being intent on each other at least, if not on the hemming, till Rollo came back.  He interrupted the course of things.