"

"Yes, madam; they were here yesterday to give particular orders about
the fires and the dinner. But as to fires, I've had 'em in all the
rooms for the last week, and everything is well aired. I could wish
some of the furniture paid better for all the cleaning it's had, but I
_think_ you'll see the brasses have been done justice to. I _think_
when Mr. and Mrs. Gascoigne come, they'll tell you nothing has been
neglected. They'll be here at five, for certain."

This satisfied Gwendolen, who was not prepared to have their arrival
treated with indifference; and after tripping a little way up the
matted stone staircase to take a survey there, she tripped down again,
and followed by all the girls looked into each of the rooms opening
from the hall--the dining-room all dark oak and worn red satin damask,
with a copy of snarling, worrying dogs from Snyders over the
side-board, and a Christ breaking bread over the mantel-piece; the
library with a general aspect and smell of old brown-leather; and
lastly, the drawing-room, which was entered through a small antechamber
crowded with venerable knick-knacks.

"Mamma, mamma, pray come here!" said Gwendolen, Mrs. Davilow having
followed slowly in talk with the housekeeper. "Here is an organ. I will
be Saint Cecilia: some one shall paint me as Saint Cecilia. Jocosa
(this was her name for Miss Merry), let down my hair. See, mamma?"

She had thrown off her hat and gloves, and seated herself before the
organ in an admirable pose, looking upward; while the submissive and
sad Jocosa took out the one comb which fastened the coil of hair, and
then shook out the mass till it fell in a smooth light-brown stream far
below its owner's slim waist.

Mrs. Davilow smiled and said, "A charming picture, my dear!" not
indifferent to the display of her pet, even in the presence of a
housekeeper. Gwendolen rose and laughed with delight. All this seemed
quite to the purpose on entering a new house which was so excellent a
background.

"What a queer, quaint, picturesque room!" she went on, looking about
her. "I like these old embroidered chairs, and the garlands on the
wainscot, and the pictures that may be anything. That one with the
ribs--nothing but ribs and darkness--I should think that is Spanish,
mamma."

"Oh, Gwendolen!" said the small Isabel, in a tone of astonishment,
while she held open a hinged panel of the wainscot at the other end of
the room.

Every one, Gwendolen first, went to lo