a large bedroom with low panelled walls,
in the middle of which was a vast antique bedstead made of black
carved oak, and every bit of furniture in the room seemed as old as
the bedstead. Over the mantelpiece was an old picture in a carved oak
frame, a Madonna and Child, the beauty of which fascinated me. I
remember that on the bottom of the frame was written in printed
letters the name "Chiaro dell' Erma." I was surprised to find in the
room another walking-dress, not new, but slightly worn, laid out
ready for me to put on. I lifted it up and looked at it. I saw at a
glance that it would most likely fit me like a glove.

'"Whose dress is this?" I said.

'"It's yours, miss."

'"Mine? But how came it mine?"

'"Oh, please don't ask me any questions, miss," she said. "Please ask
Mr. D'Arcy, miss; he knows all about it. I am only the housekeeper,
miss."

'"Mr. D'Arcy knows all about my dress!" I said. "Why, what on earth
has Mr. D'Arcy to do with my dress?"

'"Please don't ask me any more questions, miss," she said. "Pray
don't. Mr. D'Arcy is a very kind man; I am sure nobody has ever heard
me say but what he is a very kind man; but if you do what he says you
are not to do, if you talk about what he says you are not to talk
about, he is frightful, he is awful. He calls you a chattering old--I
don't know what he won't call you. And, of course, I know you are a
lady, miss. Of course you look a lady, miss, when you are dressed
like one. But then, you see, when I first saw you, you were not
dressed as you are now, and at first sight, of course, we go by the
dress a good deal, you know. But Mr. D'Arcy needn't be afraid I shall
not treat you like a lady, miss. I'm only a housekeeper now, though,
of course, I was once very different--very different indeed. But, of
course, anybody has only to look at you to see you are a lady, and,
besides, Mr. D'Arcy says you are a lady, and that is quite enough."

'At this moment there came through the door--it was ajar--Mr.
D'Arcy's voice from the distance, so loud and clear that every word
could be heard.

'"Mrs. Titwing, why do you stay chattering there, preventing Miss
Wynne from getting ready? You know we are going out for a walk
together."

'"Oh Lord, miss!" said the poor woman in a frightened tone, "I must
go. Tell him I didn't chatter--tell him you asked me questions and I
was obliged to answer them."

'The mysteries around me were thickening every moment. What did this
pra