She was surprised at her own pleasure in seeing the boxes carried upstairs again, in hearing the soft voice talking to Mawson, in sniffing the faint sweet scent that seemed to hang about the house when Miss Reston was in it, conquering the grimmer odour of naphtha and boiled cabbage which generally held sway.
Bella had missed Mawson too.

It was fine to have her back again in her cosy kitchen, enjoying her supper and full of tales of the glories of Champertoun.

Bella's face grew even longer than it was naturally as she heard of the magnificence of that ancient house, of the chapel, of the ballroom, of the number of bedrooms, of the man-servants and maid-servants, of the motors and horses.
"Forty bedrooms!" she said, in scandalised tones.

"The thing's rideeclous.

Mair like an institution than a private hoose." "Oh, it's a _gentleman's_ 'ouse," said Mawson proudly--"the sort of thing Miss Reston's accustomed to.