ith a little sigh of disappointment, Delia took off her gloves and
seated herself opposite to Mrs Winn. Everything seemed against her
to-day.

"And how," said that lady, having supplied her with scissors and paper,
"do you get on with Anna Forrest? You're with Mr Goodwin so much, I
suppose you know her quite well by this time."

"Indeed, I don't," said Delia. "I haven't even seen her yet; have you?"

"I've seen her twice," said Mrs Winn. "She's pretty enough, though not
to be compared to her mother; more like the Forrests, and has her
father's pleasant manners. If _looks_ were the only things to consider,
she would do very well."

"What's the matter with her?" asked Delia, bluntly, for Mrs Winn spoke
as though she knew much more than she expressed.

"Why, I've every reason to suppose," she began deliberately--then
breaking off--"Take care, Delia," she exclaimed; "you're cutting that
cover too narrow. Let me show you. You must leave a good bit to tuck
under, don't you see, or it will be off again directly."

Delia had never in her life been so anxious for Mrs Winn to finish a
sentence, but she tried to control her impatience, and bent her
attention to the brown paper cover.

"It only shows," continued Mrs Winn, when her instructions were ended,
"that I was right in what I said the other day about Mr Bernard
Forrest's marriage. That sort of thing never answers. That child has
evidently been brought up without a strict regard for truth."

"What has she done?" asked Delia.

"Not, of course," said Mrs Winn, "that poor Prissy could have had
anything to do with that."

The book Delia held slipped from her impatient fingers, and fell to the
ground flat on its face.

"My _dear_ Delia," said Mrs Winn, picking it up, and smoothing the
leaves, with a shocked look, "the books get worn out quite soon enough,
without being tossed about like that."

"I'm very sorry," said Delia, humbly.--"But do tell me what it is you
mean about Anna Forrest."

"It's nothing at all pleasant," said Mrs Winn, "but as you're likely to
see something of her, you ought to know that I've every reason to
believe that she's not quite straightforward. Now, with all your
faults, Delia--and you've plenty of them--I never found you untruthful."

She fixed her large, round eyes on her companion for a moment, but as
Delia made no remark, resumed--

"On the evening of your last working party but one, Julia Gibbins and I
saw Mr Oswald of Le