"About half past eight."
"Is that all? And where is Mr. Ingelow?"
"Gone to get his breakfast and send us ours. Hadn't you better wash and comb your hair, Miss Dane? Here is the lavatory."
Miss Dane refreshed herself by a cold ablution, and combed out her beautiful, shining tresses.
As she flung them back, a quick, light step came flying upstairs, a clear voice sounded, whistling: "My Love is But a Lassie Yet."
"That's Mr. Ingelow," said Susan Sharpe, decisively.
The next instant came a light rap at the door.
"The room is thine own," said Mollie, in French. "Come in."
"Good-morning, ladies," Mr. Ingelow said, entering, handsome and radiant. "Miss Dane, I trust you feel refreshed after your journey?"
"And my long sleep? Yes, sir."