They had of course desired, from the first, to do everything in the way of helping her to arrange herself.  It had seemed to Charlotte that there would be a great many things to talk about; but the Baroness was apparently inclined to talk about nothing.

“Write her a note, asking her leave to come and see her.  I think that is what she will like,” said Gertrude.

“Why should I give her the trouble of answering me?” Charlotte asked.  “She will have to write a note and send it over.”

“I don’t think she will take any trouble,” said Gertrude, profoundly.

“What then will she do?”

“That is what I am curious to see,” said Gertrude, leaving her sister with an impression that her curiosity was morbid.

They went to see the Baroness without preliminary correspondence; and in the little salon which she had already created, with its becoming light and its festoons, they found Robert Acton.

Eugenia was intensely gracious, but she accused them of neglecting her cruelly.  “You see Mr. Acton has had to take pity upon me,” she said.  “My brother goes off sketching, for hours; I can never depend upon him.  So I was to send Mr. Acton to beg you to come and give me the benefit of your wisdom.”

Gertrude looked at her sister.  She wanted to say, “That is what she would have done.”  Charlotte said that they hoped the Baroness would always come and dine with them; it would give them so much pleasure; and, in that case, she would spare herself the trouble of having a cook.

“Ah, but I must have a cook!” cried the Baroness.  “An old negress in a yellow turban.  I have set my heart upon that.  I want to look out of my window and see her sitting there on the grass, against the background of those crooked, dusky little apple-trees, pulling the husks off a lapful of Indian corn.  That will be local color, you know.  There is n’t much of it here—­you don’t mind my saying that, do you?—­so one must make the most of what one can get.  I shall be most happy to dine with you whenever you will let me; but I want to be able to ask you sometimes.  And I want to be able to ask Mr. Acton,” added the Baroness.

“You must come and ask me at home,” said Acton.  “You must come and see me; you must dine with me first.  I want to show you my place; I want to introduce you to my mother.”  He called again upon Madame M; auunster, two days later.  He was constantly at the other house; he used to walk across the fields from his own place, and he appeared to have fewer scruples than his cousins with regard to dropping in.  On this occasion he found that Mr. Brand had come to pay his respects to the charming stranger; but after Acton’s arrival the young theologian said nothing.  He sat in his chair with his two hands clasped, fixing upon his hostess a grave, fascinated stare.  The Baroness talked to Robert Acton, but, as she talked, she turned and smiled at Mr. Brand, who never took