“I keep my own little room,” said Agnes, “where I used to learn my lessons. How the time goes! You remember? The little panelled room that opens from the drawing room?”

“Remember, Agnes? When I saw you, for the first time, coming out at the door, with your quaint little basket of keys hanging at your side?”

“It is just the same,” said Agnes, smiling. “I am glad you think of it so pleasantly. We were very happy.”

“We were, indeed,” said I.

“I keep that room to myself still; but I cannot always desert Mrs. Heep, you know. And so,” said Agnes, quietly, “I feel obliged to bear her company, when I might prefer to be alone. But I have no other reason to complain of her. If she tires me, sometimes, by her praises of her son, it is only natural in a mother. He is a very good son to her.”