"she."

"Does n't she think it good enough for her?" cried little Lizzie
Acton, who was always asking unpractical questions that required, in
strictness, no answer, and to which indeed she expected no other
answer than such as she herself invariably furnished in a small,
innocently-satirical laugh.

"She certainly expressed a willingness to come," said Mr. Wentworth.

"That was only politeness," Gertrude rejoined.

"Yes, she is very polite--very polite," said Mr. Wentworth.

"She is too polite," his son declared, in a softly growling tone which
was habitual to him, but which was an indication of nothing worse than a
vaguely humorous intention. "It is very embarrassing."

"That is more than can be said of you, sir," said Lizzie Acton, with her
little laugh.

"Well, I don't mean to encourage her," Clifford went on.

"I 'm sure I don't care if you do!" cried Lizzie.

"She will not think of you, Clifford," said Gertrude, gravely.

"I hope not!" Clifford exclaimed.

"She will think of Robert," Gertrude continued, in the same tone.

Robert Acton began to blush; but there was no occasion for it, for every
one was looking at Gertrude--every one, at least, save Lizzie, who, with
her pretty head on one side, contemplated her brother.

"Why do you attribute motives, Gertrude?" asked Mr. Wentworth.

"I don't attribute motives, father," said Gertrude. "I only say she will
think of Robert; and she will!"

"Gertrude judges by herself!" Acton exclaimed, laughing. "Don't you,
Gertrude? Of course the Baroness will think of me. She will think of me
from morning till night."

"She will be very comfortable here," said Charlotte, with something of
a housewife's pride. "She can have the large northeast room. And the
French bedstead," Charlotte added, with a constant sense of the lady's
foreignness.

"She will not like it," said Gertrude; "not even if you pin little
tidies all over the chairs."

"Why not, dear?" asked Charlotte, perceiving a touch of irony here, but
not resenting it.

Gertrude had left her chair; she was walking about the room; her stiff
silk dress, which she had put on in honor of the Baroness, made a sound
upon the carpet. "I don't know," she replied. "She will want something
more--more private."

"If she wants to be private she can stay in her room," Lizzie Acton
remarked.

Gertrude paused in her walk, looking at her. "That would not be
pleasant," she answered. "She wants privacy and pleasure toge