"Annette, don't do any unpacking till after tea!" cried Lady Constance.
"Just get the boxes carried up, and rest a bit. I'll come and help
you later."

The maid said nothing. Her lips seemed tightly compressed. She stepped
into the hall, and spoke peremptorily to the white-capped parlourmaid
who stood bewildered among the trunks.

"Have those boxes--" she pointed to four--two large American Saratogas,
and two smaller trunks--"carried up to her ladyship's room. The other
two can go into mine."

"Miss!" whispered the agitated maid in Nora's ear, "we'll never get any
of those boxes up the top-stairs. And if we put them four into her
ladyship's room, she'll not be able to move."

"I'll come and see to it," said Nora, snatching up a bag. "They've got
to go somewhere!"

Mrs. Hooper repeated that Nora would manage it, and languidly waved her
niece towards the drawing-room. The girl hesitated, laughed, and finally
yielded, seeing that Nora was really in charge. Dr. Hooper led her in,
placed an armchair for her beside the tea-table, and stood closely
observing her.

"You're like your mother," he said, at last, in a low voice; "at least
in some points." The girl turned away abruptly, as though what he said
jarred, and addressed herself to Alice.

"Poor Annette was very sick. It was a vile crossing."