t they used to call Chelsea. You could not possibly walk
there. I will let the carriage take you. Now darling, get ready for
dinner."

Feeling as if she were ten years older than she had been the day
before, Matilda mounted the stairs to her room. _Her_ room. This
beautiful, comfortable, luxurious place! It was a little hard to
recognize herself in it. And when all those dresses should come home--

Here there was a knock at the door, and Sam, the head waiter, handed
her the bundle of her new cloak, in a nice pasteboard box. Matilda put
that in the wardrobe drawer, and made her hair and dress neat; not
without a dim notion, back somewhere in her heart, that she had a good
deal of thinking to do. A feeling that she was somehow getting out of
her reckoning. There was no time however now for anything before the
bell rang for dinner.

Nor all the evening. Norton was eager with questions; and Judith was
sharp with funny speeches, about Matilda's wonder and unusedness to
everything. Matilda winced a little; however, Norton laughed it off,
and the evening on the whole went pleasantly. He and she arranged
schemes for to-morrow; and all the four got a little more acquainted
with each other. But when Matilda went up to her room at night, she
took out her Bible and opened it, resolving to find out what those
things were she had to think of; she seemed to have switched off her
old track and to have got a great way from Mr. Richmond and Shadywalk.
She did not like this feeling. What did it mean?

She tried to think, but she could not think. Folds of glossy blue silk
hung before her eyes; her new odd little cloak, with its rich buttons
and tassels started up to her vision; Mme. Fournissons and her tape
measure and her face and her words came putting themselves between her
and the very words of the Bible. And this went on. What was she to do?
Matilda sat back from the table and tried to call herself to order.
_This_ was not the way to do. And then her mind flew off to the
Menagerie, and the roars of those wild beasts seemed to go up and down
in her ears. Yet underneath all these things, there was a secret
consciousness of something not right; _was_ it there, or no? It was all
a whirl of confusion. Matilda tried to recollect Mr. Richmond and some
of his words.

"He said I was to go by that motto, 'Whatsoever ye do, in word or deed,
do all'--Well, but I am not doing anything, am I, just now? What have I
been doing to-day? I will ta