pproaching cheerfulness by the presence of crimson
portieres, a huge tapestry screen shutting off the staircase, and, best
of all, by a brass brazier which, piled high with blazing coals,
diffused both light and heat, and seemed to speak a cheery welcome to
each new-comer. The Bechstein grand piano was not only a gain from a
musical point of view, but made a decided improvement in the sparsely
furnished drawing-room, while a few good pictures and ornaments gave a
homelike air which had hitherto been conspicuous by its absence.

Rowena regarded these improvements with the numb unconcern which a
prisoner might manifest over an unimportant alteration in his cell; but
Dreda, as usual, was afire with enthusiasm, and spent a radiantly happy
day playing the part of a charwoman, in apron and rolled-up sleeves.
She washed all the ornaments, exulting in the inky colour of the water
after the operation, and insisting that each member of the household
should ascend to regain the same.

"Isn't it beautifully dirty?" she cried in triumph. "I scrubbed them
with the nail brush. You should have seen the dust come out of the
chinks! I simply dote upon seeing the water turn black. It's no fun
washing things unless they are _really_ dirty!"

When the additions were viewed as a whole, however, Dreda was not so
content. She even frowned with displeasure at sight of the luxury in
the hall.

"It's not consistent!" she pronounced, judicially. "We are _rejuiced_,
and it doesn't look rejuiced! People in the neighbourhood coming to
call will think we are richer instead of poorer. You will have to
explain, mother. It wouldn't be honest if you didn't."

Mrs Saxon's smile was a somewhat painful effort.

"I imagine there will be little need of explanation, Dreda. News flies
fast in a country place, and our neighbours probably know our affairs as
well as we know them ourselves."

"And are gossiping about us behind our backs, and longing to call and
see how we bear it!" continued Rowena, with that new edge of bitterness
in her voice, which sounded so sadly in her mother's ears. It needed a
hard struggle with herself before Mrs Saxon could command herself to
reply gently:

"Curiosity is natural, perhaps, but I don't think we need fear anything
unfriendly. If there should be any exhibition of the sort, it's a
comfort to feel that I can depend upon my grown-up daughter to set an
example of dignity and self-restraint. My nature is lik