ith her usual
simple directness, for she felt perfectly at ease with her hostess. And
the little reminiscences and allusions to the long-ago days when all the
young interests of Jacinth Moreland and Myrtle Harper were shared
together, with which the old lady's talk was so interspersed, in no way
bored or wearied this girl of to-day, as it might have done some of her
contemporaries. On the contrary, such allusions made Jacinth feel more
on a level with her companion, and flattered her by showing her the
confidence with which she was regarded.

'I don't suppose she would speak of those past times to _any one_ but
me,' thought Jacinth proudly. 'Except, of course, perhaps to mamma.'

CHAPTER VIII.

DELICATE GROUND.

The two days at Robin Redbreast passed most satisfactorily, and long
before they came to an end Jacinth felt completely at home. It would
have been almost impossible for her or for any girl not to feel grateful
for Lady Myrtle's extreme kindness, but besides this, everything in the
life suited Jacinth's peculiar character. She liked the perfect order,
the completeness of the arrangements, just as--in very different
surroundings--she liked and appreciated the same qualities in her aunt's
sphere. Mere luxury or display would not have pleased her in the same
way, and except in the one matter of flowers and all expenses connected
with her garden, Lady Myrtle lived simply. The house itself, though in
perfectly good taste, was decidedly plain; the furniture belonged to a
severe and unluxurious date. The colouring was harmonious, but
unobtrusive.

But Jacinth thought it perfection. Her own room--the one which the old
lady had specially chosen for her, and which she impressed upon her she
must think of as appropriated to her--was exactly what she liked. The
chintz hangings--pale pink rosebuds on a white ground--the quaint
spindle-legged dressing-tables and chairs, the comfortably spacious but
undecorated wardrobe of dark old mahogany, the three-cornered bookcases
fitted in to the angles of the walls with their lozenge-paned glass
doors--all was just as she liked.

'It's so beautifully _neat_,' she said to Lady Myrtle. 'I like a house
to be almost primly neat. Frances says she's sure I shall be an old
maid, and I daresay I shall be. I shouldn't mind, if I had a house of my
own like this to live in.'

Lady Myrtle glanced at her with one of her peculiar but approving
smiles.

'That is another point in co