house was crowded with choice specimens of furniture which had once
belonged to the more magnificent of his defaulting tenants. Helen's
bedroom was not "finished"; nor, since she regarded it as a temporary
lodging rather than a permanent habitation, was she in a mind to finish
it. Still, with her frocks dotted about, the hat on the four-post bed,
and her silver-mounted brushes and manicure tools on the dressing-table,
it had a certain stylishness. Sarah shared the bed with the hat. Helen
knelt at a trunk.

"Whatever made you think of coming to Bursley?" Sarah questioned.

"Don't you think it's better than Longshaw?" said Helen.

"Yes, my darling child. But that's not why you came. If you ask me, I
believe it was your deliberate intention to capture your great-uncle.
Anyhow, I congratulate you on your success."

"Ah!" Helen murmured, smiling to herself, "I'm not out of the wood yet."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you see, uncle and I haven't quite decided whether he is to have
his way or I am to have mine; we were both thinking about it when you
happened to call." And then, as there was a little pause: "Are people
talking about us much?"

She did not care whether people were talking much or little, but she had
an obscure desire to shift ever so slightly the direction of the
conversation.