"We've got to think about your mother's wants first," said Mrs. Chase, "and she deserves a holiday after all these years."

"Quite right," said Mr. Orban; "she needs one badly. I am thankful she should have it."

There was no time to say more, for just then the carriage pulled up under the fine old portico.

Again there was that sense of stiffness and awkwardness as the Dixons came forward to greet their cousins; there was no triumphant entry and welcome to the old home. Mrs. Chase drew Mrs. Orban in; Mr. Chase took Mr. Orban; Becky, sleepy and perfectly placid, was whisked away by a grave-faced, elderly woman who said, "Come along, sir," to Peter, and disappeared through a red baize door, whither the little fellow had to follow.

"We're to have meals with the little ones in the schoolroom," said Brenda, to whom this new rule was not pleasing. "Come and get ready."

Now that she was a schoolgirl, and only home for holidays, she had all her meals with her grandparents except late dinner; but the arrival of the Orbans put an end to this. It was felt that the perpetual presence of such a crowd of youngsters at meals would never do. To Brenda and Herbert the change was typical of the whole difference these unwelcome guests would make in their lives.

"Couldn't we just have one look round first?" said Nesta, staring about her in proprietary admiration at the walls of the great hall, where hung the horns and weapons, the family portraits and trophies, of bygone Chases. "I would like just to see the secret chamber. Let me see—it must be through that door and up some steps—"

She stopped inquiringly.

"No, it isn't," Brenda said, with a look of surprise; "you go just the other way. But there isn't time now; Herbert and I will show you everything to-morrow."

Nesta looked taken aback.