“I’m sure you love children, don’t you?” said Mrs. Joshua.  She spoke impulsively, and yet with a kind of childlike shyness.

“I adore them,” exclaimed Honora.

A trellised arbour (which some years later would have been called a pergola) led from the porch up the hill to an old-fashioned summer-house on the crest.  And thither, presently, Susan led Honora for a view of the distant western hills silhouetted in black against a flaming western sky, before escorting her to her room.  The vastness of the house, the width of the staircase, and the size of the second-story hall impressed our heroine.

“I’ll send a maid to you later, dear,” Susan said.  “If you care to lie down for half an hour, no one will disturb you.  And I hope you will be comfortable.”

Comfortable!  When the door had closed, Honora glanced around her and sighed, “comfort” seemed such a strangely inadequate word.  She was reminded of the illustrations she had seen of English country houses.  The bed alone would almost have filled her little room at home.  On the farther side, in an alcove, was a huge dressing-table; a fire was laid in the grate of the marble mantel, the curtains in the bay window were tightly drawn, and near by was a lounge with a reading-light.  A huge mahogany wardrobe occupied one corner; in another stood a pier glass, and in another, near the lounge, was a small bookcase filled with books.  Honora looked over them curiously.  “Robert Elsmere” and a life of Christ, “Mr. Isaacs,” a book of sermons by an eminent clergyman, “Innocents Abroad,” Hare’s “Walks in Rome,” “When a Man’s Single,” by Barrie, a book of meditations, and “Organized Charities for Women.”

Adjoining the bedroom was a bathroom in proportion, evidently all her own,—­with a huge porcelain tub and a table set with toilet bottles containing liquids of various colours.

Dreamily, Honora slipped on the new dressing-gown Aunt Mary had made for her, and took a book out of the bookcase.  It was the volume of sermons.  But she could not read:  she was forever looking about the room, and thinking of the family she had met downstairs.  Of course, when one lived in a house like this, one could afford to dress and act as one liked.  She was aroused from her reflections by the soft but penetrating notes of a Japanese gong, followed by a gentle knock on the door and the entrance of an elderly maid, who informed her it was time to dress for dinner.

“If you’ll excuse me, Miss,” said that hitherto silent individual when the operation was completed, “you do look lovely.”