“I hope not!” Clifford exclaimed.

“She will think of Robert,” Gertrude continued, in the same tone.

Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for every one was looking at Gertrude—­every one, at least, save Lizzie, who, with her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother.

“Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?” asked Mr. Wentworth.

“I don’t attribute motives, father,” said Gertrude.  “I only say she will think of Robert; and she will!”

“Gertrude judges by herself!” Acton exclaimed, laughing.  “Don’t you, Gertrude?  Of course the Baroness will think of me.  She will think of me from morning till night.”

“She will be very comfortable here,” said Charlotte, with something of a housewife’s pride.  “She can have the large northeast room.  And the French bedstead,” Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady’s foreignness.

“She will not like it,” said Gertrude; “not even if you pin little tidies all over the chairs.”

“Why not, dear?” asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but not resenting it.

Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound upon the carpet.  “I don’t know,” she replied.  “She will want something more—­more private.”

“If she wants to be private she can stay in her room,” Lizzie Acton remarked.

Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her.  “That would not be pleasant,” she answered.  “She wants privacy and pleasure together.”

Robert Acton began to laugh again.  “My dear cousin, what a picture!”

Charlotte had fixed her serious eyes upon her sister; she wondered whence she had suddenly derived these strange notions.  Mr. Wentworth also observed his younger daughter.

“I don’t know what her manner of life may have been,” he said; “but she certainly never can have enjoyed a more refined and salubrious home.”

Gertrude stood there looking at them all.  “She is the wife of a Prince,” she said.

“We are all princes here,” said Mr. Wentworth; “and I don’t know of any palace in this neighborhood that is to let.”

“Cousin William,” Robert Acton interposed, “do you want to do something handsome?  Make them a present, for three months, of the little house over the way.”

“You are very generous with other people’s things!” cried his sister.

“Robert is very generous with his own things,” Mr. Wentworth observed dispassionately, and looking, in cold meditation, at his kinsman.

“Gertrude,” Lizzie went on, “I had an idea you were so fond of your new cousin.”

“Which new cousin?” asked Gertrude.

“I don’t mean the Baroness!” the young girl rejoined, with her laugh.  “I thought you expected to see so much of him.”

“Of Felix?  I hope to see a great deal of him,” said Gertrude, simply.