old and wrinkled.'

'I hope,' thought Jacinth to herself, 'I hope mamma isn't--not vain,
it's such a contemptible word--but I hope she doesn't care too much for
looks and outside things of that kind.'

But the very defining her thoughts startled her. She knew she had no
right to begin criticising her mother in this way, and she pulled
herself up.

'Mamma,' she said, and her tone was both perfectly natural and simple,
and more unconstrained than Mrs Mildmay had yet heard it--'mamma, isn't
it really delightful, and isn't it almost wonderful that we should be
all staying with Lady Myrtle and taking you to her? Isn't it really like
a fairy story?'

'It is indeed,' said Mrs Mildmay. 'It _is_ wonderful. The way that she
seemed to start up just when--so soon after we had lost dear granny, and
in a sense our home.'

'It would have been lovely, of course, for you to come back to us
anyway,' said Frances, 'but it wouldn't have been _so_ lovely if we'd
all been going to Aunt Alison's. It's _rather_ a poky place, you know,
mamma, and in India I suppose the houses are all _enormous_. I can only
remember like in a dream, about very big, very white rooms.'

'The last house we've had was far from _enormous_,' said her mother with
a smile, 'still it was very nice. I often wished you and Jassie could
have been with us there.'

'But--oh mamma, you'll never go back again,' pleaded Frances. 'We've got
dear papa's coming to look forward to now, and after that--never mind
_where_ we live, if only we stay together.'

Mrs Mildmay smiled, though for the first time with a touch of sadness.

'Don't let us spoil to-day by looking forward, dear; except, as you say,
to your father's coming. If he were here, everything _would_ seem
perfect.'

'And here's Robin Redbreast,' exclaimed Jacinth, as they turned the
corner of the lane, 'and "Uncle Marmy's gates" wide open in your honour.
Generally we drive in at the side. Now, mamma, take a good look. First
impressions are everything, you know. Isn't _this_ perfect?'

She seemed full of enthusiasm, which her mother was glad to see and
quick to respond to.

'It _is_ beautiful: I have never seen anything like it,' she replied
warmly. 'And _could_ there have been a more exquisite day?'

'And mamma, mamma,' cried Eugene, 'you know, don't you, it was all me
that got friends with Lady Myrtle; me, with getting--_wursty_, that day,
you know?'

CHAPTER XIV.

A COURAGEOUS PLEADER.

Lady