"I know—at lunch-time. We got ours, too. You can't refuse, Cornelia, if you haven't another engagement."

"Can't I just? You bet I can. Besides, what's to hinder having an engagement if I want to? Say! let's fix one up right here. I'd be delighted to have you come a drive with me to show me the country, Thursday afternoon at a quarter after four. We could hire something, I suppose, to drive in, and find a place to have tea on the way. We'd have a high old talk, and you'd enjoy it a heap more than the tea- party."

"Oh, I know that, but I don't know if I ought,—Mrs Nevins' invitation came first."

"Shucks!" cried Cornelia, "you've got too much conscience—that's what's the matter with you. You'll never have much of a time in this world if you don't take the pick of a choice. What's two hours, anyway? You go right home, and write nice and pretty to say you're real sorry you've got another engagement. Your mother can trot along with Aunt Soph. They'll enjoy themselves a heap better sitting round without us, talking over the perversities of the young. They were all tame angels when they were girls, and never did anything they ought not to have done. My!" She twisted her saucy nose, and rolled her eyes heavenwards. "I'm thankful I struck a livelier time! As for you, Elma Ramsden, you're going to be equal to any one of them, if nothing happens to shake you up. I guess it's my mission to do the shaking, so we'll start fair from now on. You're engaged to me Thursday afternoon. D'you understand? I guess we'd better go home and break the news before the answers are written."

She rose to her feet, and Elma followed her example, shaking her skirts and fastening on the shady mushroom hat. No further protestations rose to her lips, so it might be taken for granted that silence gave consent, but half-way down the path she spoke again, in tentative, hesitating fashion.

"I don't mind about Mrs Nevins. She is rich and strong, and enjoys her life; but Miss Nesbitt is different. She's an old maid, and poor. She belongs to a good family, so she is asked out with the rest, but she hardly ever gives a tea—not once in a year. It will be a great event to her; she'll be beginning to make preparations even now; baking cakes, and cleaning the silver, and taking off the covers of the drawing-room chairs. It is all in your honour. She'll be disappointed if you don't go."

Cornelia turned upon her with a flash of reproof. "Why couldn't you tell me that before, I want to know? Pretty mean I should have felt, backing out of a thing like that! I wouldn't disappoint the old dear for a fortune. Is it the one with the flat hair, and the little ringlets dangling at the sides? They are too 'cute for anything, those ringlets. Yes! I guessed she was the one, for I noticed her clothes looked all used up. Don't you worry! I'll take tea with Miss Nesbitt as often as she wants, and behave so pretty you'll admire to see me. That's an olive branch to carry in to Aunt Soph—eh? I reckon she'll be pretty dusty."

"I reckon she will." Elma glanced with a half-fearful smile at her companion's unruffled face. "I wouldn't be in your shoes for a hundred pounds. Miss Briskett is formidable enough when she is pleased; but when she is angry—! Cornelia, aren't you frightened?"

Cornelia's joyous peal of laughter floated away on the air, and caught the ears of the industrious Morris, who was sweeping the path a hundred yards away. He turned to lean on his brush and stare, while Elma glanced nervously at the curtained windows.

"I never was scared in my life that I know of, and I'm not going to begin with my very own aunt. I rather like a fizzle now and then—it freshens one up. Don't you worry about me! I'm quite able to stand up for myself."

She pushed open the gate of The Nook as she spoke and sauntered up the path; laughing, bareheaded, radiantly unashamed. Miss Briskett beheld her approach from her seat in the corner of the drawing-room, and two spots of colour shone dully on her thin cheek bones. The hands which held her knitting trembled with indignation, and her eyes welcomed the culprit with a steely flash.

"Cornelia, are you aware that you are forbidden to trespass on the grass of this park?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You are also aware, I presume, that to wander alone bareheaded is not the habit of young ladies in this neighbourhood, and that it is intensely annoying to me that you should do so?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"You do know! You are not ashamed to acknowledge it! Then may I inquire why you have deliberately chosen to do what you know to be wrong?"

Cornelia drew up a comfortable chair and seated herself by her aunt's side, arranging her draperies with a succession of little pulls and pats. She rested one elbow on the arm of the chair, and leant her chin upon the upraised palm, a pretty, thoughtful-looking pose into which she fell naturally in leisure moments. The cat blinked at her through sleepy eyelids, then, deliberately ignoring the devotion of years, rose from its place by its mistress's side, stretched itself with feline grace, and stalked majestically across the rug to nestle against the soft white skirts. Miss Briskett eyed its desertion over the brim of her spectacles. Poor lady! her measure of love received was so small, that she felt a distinct pang at the defection.

"What explanation have you to offer, Cornelia? You knew that you would annoy me?"

"Why, yes, of course. That's all there was to it! It didn't thrill me a mite to walk over a strip of lawn, without figging up in my best duds. I can do that any day I want at home, but I just had to raise Cain somehow! It's the only way I ken pull round again when I get mad. I just go right away and do the ugliest thing I can strike, and then I feel all soothed, and calmed down. You try it yourself, next time; it beats knitting stockings all into fits! I'm just as sweet as candy now, so you've got to forgive me, and be friends. I'm sorry I acted so mean, but you were pretty nippy yourself, weren't you now? I guess we've both been used to take our own way without any fluster, and it comes pretty hard to be crossed, but now we've had our fling, we've got to kiss and make friends. That's so; isn't it?"

She bent forward, pouting her lips to receive the token of peace, but Miss Briskett drew back in chilly dignity. For the past hour she had nourished a smouldering resentment, feeling herself the most ill-used of womenkind, and this calm inclusion of herself in the list of wrong-doers did not tend to pour oil on the troubled waters. For Cornelia to acknowledge her deliberate intention to offend, and in the same breath to offer a kiss of reconciliation, showed a reprehensible lack of proper feeling. Miss Briskett was a woman of high principles, and made a point of forgiving her enemies—slowly! As a preliminary process she demanded an abject apology, and a period of waiting, during which the culprit was expected to be devoured by remorse and anxiety. Then, bending from an impeccable height, she vouchsafed a mitigated pardon. "I forgive you, but I can never forget!" Some such absolution she would have been ready to bestow upon a tearful and dejected Cornelia, but the pink and white complaisance of the uplifted face steeled her heart afresh. She shrank back in her chair, ignoring the outstretched hand.

"Excuse me, my dear, but I do not care to kiss a person who has just acknowledged that she has deliberately tried to annoy me. I was naturally displeased at your rejection of my friend's hospitality, but it is exceedingly impertinent to compare my behaviour to your own. You seem to forget that I am your hostess, and nearly three times your age."

"Then you ought to be three times better, oughtn't you?" retorted Cornelia, blandly. "Well, I'll own up that I'm sorry about Miss Nesbitt, and I'll be pleased to take tea with her as often as she likes, but I regret that a previous engagement prevents my going Thursday also. You tell the old lady from me that I'm real sorry to miss the treat, and if it will ease her mind any to know that I don't think England's a patch on America, she's welcome to the information. Elma Ramsden and I have fixed up a drive to see the country, Thursday afternoon."

Miss Briskett's knitting-needles clinked irritably together. A half concession was little better than none, and the frivolous tone of Cornelia's remarks spoke of something far removed from the ideal repentance. Apart from the question of the tea-party, she disapproved of two young girls driving about the country unattended, but her courage shrank from the thought of another battle. She dropped her eyelids, and replied icily—

"As you have already made your arrangements it is useless for me to offer any objections. You are evidently determined to take your own way in spite of anything I can say. I can only trust that no harm may come of the experiment."



CHAPTER SEVEN.

On Thursday afternoon at three o'clock Cornelia retired to her bedroom, and with the help of the devoted Mary proceeded to make an elaborate toilette for the drive. Those wonderful trunks seemed to contain garments suitable for every possible occasion which could arise; for every fluctuation of weather, for every degree of festivity. From one of the number out came a long driving coat, snowy white, light of texture, an ideal garment for a warm yet dusty summer's day, which being fastened down the side by huge pearl buttons, displayed a degree of smartness nothing short of uncanny in an untrimmed garment. To wear with the coat there was a jaunty cap, and a pair of driving gloves with wide, gauntleted cuffs. Cornelia made faces at herself in the glass as her custom was the while she arranged the "set" of her hat, puffed out her shaded locks, and affably cross-questioned her attendant on her private affairs.

"Mury, how's your friend?"

"He isn't so well as he was, miss, thank you all the same. He's been a bit upset in his indigestion."

"Think of that now! Isn't that sad! You buy him a bottle of physic and send it along. I'll pay! It's not a mite of use having a friend with indigestion. He'll be just as doleful, and you want him to give you a real good time. ... How's your mother getting along?"

"Nicely, thank you, miss. She said she didn't know how to thank you enough for the shawl. Her poor old bones haven't ached half so much since she's had it to hap round her of a night."

"Isn't that sweet! Hustle up now with my high shoes, and don't mind buttoning in bits of flesh as you did last time. I'd just as lief be left out. See here, Mury, I want everything put back in its place after I'm gone! I hate to find a muss when I get back, and that blue muslin has got to be pressed out for to-night, and those bits of lace washed, and the parcels changed at the shop. Mind, it's got to be all done by the time I am back. And see here, next time you go out to meet your friend, there's that taffetas waist you can have for yourself! You'll look dandy in it, and he'll be so proud. Maybe it will help the indigestion better than physic."

Mary was incoherent with delight, and promised ardently to execute all the young lady's orders, knowing full well that it was the silver afternoon, and that her time should of rights be fully occupied with household duties. She promised, and she intended to perform. By dint of smiles, pleasant words, kindly interests in "friends," and ceaseless doles of finery and physic, Cornelia had established such a hold upon the affections of the staff, that her wish already took precedent of her aunt's law. Mary mentally condemned half the contents of the silver cupboard to neglect, the while she ironed out foaming frills and floating sash ends.

Mrs Ramsden accompanied Elma to the gate of The Nook, and stood beside Miss Briskett looking on with dubious eyes, while the two girls took their places in the high dog-cart. A groom had driven the horse from the livery stable, and both good ladies expected him to take possession of the back seat, in the double capacity of chaperon and guide. It came, therefore, as a shock, when Cornelia dismissed the man with a smile, and a rain of silver dropped into an eager hand, but protestations, feeble and stern, were alike disregarded.

"How do you suppose we are going to talk, with him perched there, with his ears sticking out, listening to every word we say? We don't want any men poking round, this journey!" laughed Cornelia, settling herself in her seat, and taking the reins in her gauntleted hands. Miss Briskett was dismayed to feel a thrill of pride mingling with her displeasure, for the girl looked so fresh, so trim, so sparklingly alive perched up on her high driving seat. Elma Ramsden, for all her superior beauty, looked tame and insignificant beside her. Although she would not condescend to look around, Miss Briskett divined that behind the curtains of the neighbouring houses the occupants were looking on with admiring curiosity, and noting every detail of the girl's attire. If Cornelia were self-willed and defiant, in appearance at least she was a worthy representative of her race. The stern lines of the spinster's mouth relaxed into an unwilling smile as she said urgently—

"But, my dear, the horse! I am responsible for your safety. Are you quite sure that you are capable of managing him?"

Cornelia's ripple of amusement was sufficiently expressive. "One old mare in a hired trap, when I've driven a four-in-hand over some of the wickedest roads in America! If we are smashed, Aunt Soph, you can lay it to providence, and not to my driving. Don't get to worrying if we are late. If we're killed you'll hear all about it soon enough. You can only die once, and a carriage spill is a good slick way of getting it over."

"Cornelia, I insist—"

"Miss Cornelia, I beg—"

The cart dashed suddenly onward in response to a flip of the whip, leaving the two old ladies upon the roadway, the unfinished appeal frozen upon their lips. Elma turned round to wave an abashed adieu, the long habit of servitude struggling with a delicious new sense of liberty and adventure.

"Oh—oh, Cornelia, if you could only see them! They are standing stock-still, staring after us. They look petrified! ... It was naughty of you. You frightened your aunt on purpose."

"That's so!" assented Cornelia, frankly. "I meant to do it. It's going to hurt me a lot more than it does her, as the mommar said when she spanked the nipper, but she's got just as set as a fossil, paddling along in this little backwater, and imagining it's the whole big ocean, and there's no one on hand to rouse her but myself. It's my mission. Wake up, England!" and she flourished her whip dramatically as the mare trotted through the south gateway of the park.

Outside the gate lay a smooth wide road stretching uphill, and in response to a movement of Elma's outstretched hand, Cornelia turned the mare in this direction, flashing a radiant smile into the pink-and-white face.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How do you feel?"

"Excited!—As if something were going to happen!"

Cornelia nodded sagely.

"Perhaps it is; there's no saying. I've seen horses I'd sooner trust in a scrimmage, but a little spill would do you no harm. You're skeery as a cat. You want nerve, my dear, nerve!" Cornelia flicked her whip round the horse's ears to give emphasis to her words, and chuckled with mischievous amusement as Elma clutched the seat, and gasped in dismay.

"I call this crawling, not driving. When we get out into the real country I'll make her go, so we get some fresh air into our lungs, then you can hold on if you like, but don't pay before the show begins. Now, then—where are we bound?"

Elma cast down her eyes, faintly blushing beneath her hat. Surely there was something infectiously electric in the air this afternoon, or why should her thoughts fly as an arrow from the bow to just that very spot which it should have been her maidenly duty to avoid? She blushed at her own audacity; telling herself sternly that she ought to be ashamed; held the temptation afar off, looking at it, longing after it, regretfully deciding to cast it aside, then with a sudden impetuous change of front, hugged it to her breast. Yes, she would! For one afternoon, one golden, glorious afternoon, she would send prudence to the winds, and follow her own instincts. After all, why not? Because a certain person happened to be squire of a certain district it did not follow that other people could not drive over his land without being suspected of personal designs. It was to the last degree unlikely that one would happen to meet anyone one knew, but if one did—Elma acknowledged to herself that a lift of the hat, a glance of pleased recognition, would remain in memory as the pleasantest episode of the afternoon.

As a palliative to her conscience, Elma suggested a farther village as the termination to the drive, directing the course with a thrill of guilty triumph at each fresh turning.

"Ain't this dandy!" cried Cornelia, preening her little head, and showing her white teeth in a smile of delight. "This England of yours is just a 'cute little garden, with the roads rolled out like gravel paths. You'd stare to see the roads about my home. Over here it's all grass and roses. You are a rose, too—a real, sweet garden rose, with the dewdrops on its leaves. If I were an artist I'd paint a picture of you on one panel, and Aunt Soph on the other, as two types of English life, and the people could look on, and learn a lesson. It's kinder sweet and touching to dream along so long as you're young, but if you go on keeping your eyes shut, it don't pan out well in old age. It's best to have 'em wide open, and realise that there are two or three more people in the world beside yourself."

Elma smiled in vague, preoccupied fashion. Her own thoughts were all engrossing, and at every fresh winding of the road she held her breath in suspense, while the wild rose colour deepened in her cheeks. Suppose—suppose they met him! How would he look? What would he do? What would he think? Even the compliment to herself faded into insignificance beside such questions as these.

The mare was trotting briskly along a high level road, on the right side of which lay the boundary wall of a large estate—the estate, every inch of which was thrilling with interest to one onlooker, at least; to the right a bank of grass sloped gradually to a lower road, beneath which again could be seen a wide-stretched panorama of country. Cornelia slackened the reins, and gave herself up to the enjoyment of the moment.

Up to now decorous toddles to and fro the outlying villas had been her only form of exercise, and she was amazed and delighted with the verdant beauty of the scene. As Elma did not seem inclined for conversation she made no further remark, and for the next quarter of an hour the two girls drove onward in silence, each happy in her own thoughts, in the sunshine, in the sweet, balmy air, fragrant with the scent of the flowering trees. Then of a sudden one of the lodges of the park came into view, and on the roadside beside the door a dazzling golden object, at sight of which Cornelia puckered puzzled brows.

"What in the land's name is that? The sun dazzles so that I can't see."

"It's a—a cage, I think! I see something like bars."

"What fool-trick are they up to, then, putting a gilt cage on the high road in the blazing sunshine? They might use the sense they were born with. Steady, old lady, steady!" cried Cornelia, soothingly, as the mare pricked up her ears and shied uneasily to the farther side of the road. "Yes, it's a cage right enough, and a poll parrot inside. Guess I'll pull up at that house, and tell the inmates that it looks for all the world like a blazing firework on the side of the path; enough to scare any horse in creation. This old lady is as nervous as a cat!"

The fact was painfully apparent even to Elma's inexperience, for the mare, refusing to be soothed by Cornelia's cajoling words and chuckles, shied still nearer the opposite hedge, her ears cocked nervously erect. Seen nearer at hand, and out of the direct dazzle of sunlight, the cage looked innocent enough with its grey inmate swinging solemnly to and fro on its perch, but as the cart swung rapidly past, Mistress Poll evidently felt that it was time to assert herself, and opened her mouth to emit a shrill, raucous cry, at the sound of which the mare bounded forward in a headlong gallop.

"I knew it!" cried Cornelia, shortly. "I just guessed that had to come next." She sat bolt upright, twisting the reins round her fingers, her lips pressed into a thin red line, her eyes ashine with an excitement in which was more than a spice of enjoyment. She shook herself impatiently free from Elma's frenzied grasp. "Now, then, none of that! You leave my arms alone. I'll need all my strength before we're through with this trouble. My stars and stripes, how she does pull."

"Oh, oh, Cornelia! What shall we do? What shall we do? Shall we be thrown? What's going to happen? Cornelia?"

Not by a fraction of an inch did Cornelia turn her head in answer to this frenzied appeal. Upright as a dart she sat in her seat, her slender wrists straining at the reins.

"Don't yelp!" she said shortly. "Keep that till you're hurt. Say! what happens to the road after the next turn?"

"I don't know. ... Oh, what shall we do? Why did we ever come? ... Cornelia, can you hold her back?" ...

"No!" snapped Cornelia, shortly. "I can't!—Not for many minutes longer, at this rate. My wrists are about broken as it is. What happens after this turning, I say? You must know. Use your brains, for goodness' sake—if you want any left to use another day. Is it a good road—better than this? What's on the sides—hedgerows, walls, water? For the land's sake, child, sort your ideas!"

Thus admonished, Elma made a violent effort to pull herself together. For reasons already mentioned, this particular bit of country was clearly imprinted on her memory, and she had but to collect her scattered wits to see a clear picture of the path ahead.

"The road is quite good. There is a wall—two walls. Some farm buildings on the right. At the end there is a hill; it leads down into the next village."

"Humph!" Cornelia's nostrils dilated widely, and two spots of pink showed on her white cheeks. "Then I guess this is the end of the volume. A grass bank is better than a wall any day of the week. ... Now then, young woman, if you've got any grit stowed away, get it out, and use it. It's coming! Are you ready?"

"No, no!" shrieked Elma, wildly. She clutched the seat with despairing hands, as with a sudden convulsive movement Cornelia switched the mare violently to the right. "Help, help! Oh, help—"

The bank rose before her eyes in a sudden mountainous sweep; the mare, instead of being in front, soared suddenly on the top of the trap; the hinges creaked and strained; and the seat assumed a perpendicular position. It was all over in a couple of minutes, but to Elma it seemed as many hours. She had time to hear the rush of approaching footsteps, to see over the top of the hedge three startled masculine faces; to recognise the nearer of the three with a great throb of relief, and to stretch out her arms towards him with a shrill cry of appeal—then the crash came, and she was shot headlong into space.

Fireworks! that was the first impression. Little dots of flame flitting about before her eyes, forming into circles of light and whizzing rapidly round and round. Then when her eyes were open, a heavy confused stupor, in which she saw, but refused to understand. Why was she lying on the grass in the middle of the day? Why did Cornelia look so queer, with her face stained with soil, and her hat on one side? Why did they offer her things to drink? She wasn't thirsty; the tea was bad; it stung her mouth. It wasn't tea at all, but something hot and nasty. It was brandy out of a flask! Elma lifted big, lovely eyes of a pansy blue, and stared vacantly into the face by her side, but at the sight of it memory came back in a rush. She sat up stiffly, moving her limbs in nervous, tentative fashion—gasped, sighed, and quavered out a tremulous—

"What happened? Is it all over? Are we saved?"

Cornelia loomed above her, alert even in this moment of shock and dishevelment. One cheek was plastered with soil; patches of green stain discoloured her coat, her hair hung rakishly askew, yet never had her manner been more composed nor complacently matter of fact.

"We've had a pretty lucky let-off. You are alive all right, and I guess there's not much the matter with you but nerves. There's nothing wrong with your lungs, anyway. You scared the mare pretty near as much as the bird—yelping like a crazed thing, and hanging on to my arm. The grass is soft enough. It hasn't hurt you any. You needn't worry feeling all over to see if there's a break. You'd know it fast enough if there were."

"Miss Ramsden is feeling stunned. I think it would be wiser to allow her to recover gradually. It is a shock to—er—to most systems, to be shot out of a cart, however short the distance!"

The masculine voice was thunderous with indignation, and the arm which supported Elma's back tightened its hold, as if to protect her against the world. Cornelia turned aside, her red lips twisted into a smile, and walked along the bank to where the other two men were unharnessing the mare, which lay on her side trembling with fright, the blood oozing from several ugly-looking cuts and scratches. As Cornelia walked she held her right wrist tightly with her left hand, as if she still felt the strain of that wrestle with the reins, but there was no flinching in voice or manner as she stood over the men, issuing instructions in brisk, incisive tones. The nearer of the two was impressed to the extent of ceasing work to touch his cap; the second darted one contemptuous glance in her direction, and placidly continued to disobey. Cornelia promptly knelt on the grass by his side, with intent to demonstrate her own greater efficiency, but the first movement of the strained wrist brought a flush of pain to her cheeks. She sat back, pursing her lips together to restrain an involuntary groan, while the stranger flashed a second look in her direction. He was a tall, lean, somewhat cadaverous—looking man, with steel-like eyes shaded by haughty eyelids, perpetually adroop as though no object on earth were worthy of his regard. Cornelia took him in in a swift, comprehensive glance, and with youthful ardour decided that she loathed the creature.

"Hurt yourself?"

"Not a bit, thanks. I guess there's enough of you to do the work without me, but I'm used to seeing things done in a hurry, and you seemed pretty deliberate—"

"A little caution is not thrown away sometimes. What induced you to come out driving alone if you could not manage a horse?"

There being no reply to this question, and the last buckle of the harness being unstrapped, the speaker turned an inquiring glance over his shoulder, to behold a rigid figure and a face ablaze with indignation.

There was something in the girl's face at that moment so vital, so bizarre and arresting, that so long as Rupert Guest lived, it remained with him as one of the most striking pictures in his mental picture- gallery. He had but to pass a high green hedge in the June sunshine, to catch the fragrance of the honeysuckle and roses, and it rose up before him again—the white, furious face, with the red, roughened locks, and the gleam of white teeth through the scarlet lips. There was no admiration in his thoughts; this was not at all the type of girl whom he admired, but she was a being by herself, different from anyone whom he had met. He stared at her with curious attention.

"Do you mean," said Cornelia, in the slow, even tones of intense anger, "that you think this was my doing—that I upset the cart by my bad driving? If that's so, you are a little out in your reckoning. If I hadn't been used to horses all my days we might have been in kingdom come by this time. I pulled her into the bank before worse things happened!"

"Then what sent her off in the first instance?"

"A poll parrot, screeching in its cage, set right out in the roadway by some fool owner, who ought to be had up for murder."

The stranger pursed up his lips in an expressive whistle, then suddenly sprang upwards as the mare, freed from her harness, rolled on her side and struggled to her feet, where she stood shivering and tossing her head, displaying fresh cuts and bruises in her dusty coat. The labourer put his hand on her neck, soothing her with gentle words and touches, while his master surveyed her with kindly concern.

"Poor brute! Better take her to the stables, James, and send off for a vet. Mrs Greville can no doubt spare a carriage to take these ladies home." He turned towards Cornelia with an impulse of provocation which seemed to spring from some source outside himself. As a rule he was chivalrous where women were concerned, but there was something in the personality of this girl which aroused his antagonism. It seemed almost a personal offence that she should be so alert and composed while the mare bled and trembled, and that pale, lovely thing lay like a broken snowdrop on the bank. He felt a growing desire to annoy, to wound, to break down this armour of complacent vanity.

"So you could not hold her till she tired herself out? Well! the experiment seems to have answered less successfully from her point of view than your own. She'll need a considerable time to recover her nerves and give these scratches time to heal."

"Skin deep!" sneered Cornelia, with a curl of the lip. "I'll drive her back in a day or two; and up and down this road until she learns not to play that trick again. I've never given in to a horse yet, and I'm not going to begin with a hack mare!"

The stranger eyed her with cold disapproval.

"Perhaps her owner may refuse to allow her to be experimented upon again. I should, in his place! It may be foolish, but I hate to see a brute suffer, even for the noble purpose of proving my own superiority."

He swung away as he spoke, thus failing to see the stunned blankness of Cornelia's expression. Straight as a dart she stood, with head thrown back, scarlet lips pressed tightly together, and dark brows knitted above the wounded tragedy of her eyes. The labourer standing by the mare's side looked towards her with honest sympathy. He had had personal experience of the "length of the Captain's tongue," and was correspondingly sympathetic towards another sufferer. A tender of dumb animals, he was quick to understand the expression on the girl's face, and to know that she had been wrongfully accused.

"Don't you take on, miss!" he said, touching his cap with the unashamed servility at which the American girl never ceased to wonder. "I'll look after her meself, and if the dirt is washed out of the sores at once, she'll come to no harm. Likely as not there'll be nothing for the vet to do by the time he arrives. At the worst it'll be only a few stitches. She'll soon get over that."

Cornelia shivered, and bit hard on her lower lip. She slipped her hand into an inside pocket of the white coat, and, coming a step nearer, dropped a coin into the man's hand. He cast down his eyes, started, and flushed a deep red.

"Thank you, miss. Beg pardon, but you've made a mistake!"

A sovereign lay brightly on his grimy palm; he stared at it with respectful awe, scarcely regretful, since it did not enter his mind to conceive that such a munificent gift could seriously have been offered for his acceptance. It had seldom happened that he had had the handling of such a fortune, since his whole weekly earnings reached a total of eighteen shillings, but Cornelia in her turn looked abashed and discomfited, thrusting her hand once again into the tightly-buttoned little pocket.

"I'm sorry! I ken't get used to your money over here. Will that make it enough?"

To the man's utter stupefaction she placed a second sovereign beside the first in his outstretched palm. He stared at it with distended eyes, thrilled by the discovery that she had meant it after all, awed by the revelation of such munificence.

"Beg pardon, miss, I was thinking as you'd mistook it for a shilling, not making so bold as to complain. I thank your ladyship kindly! I'm sure I can't rightly say what I ought—"

He stuttered, incoherent with excitement, but even as he spoke he held out the second sovereign, and Cornelia understood that his good feeling permitted him to accept only what had been originally offered. She would have felt the same in his place, and realising as much, took back the coin without a demur.

"Well! it's waiting for you next time I come, if you've done your duty by that mare."

She turned, and walked slowly back to where the two men were standing talking together, some eight or ten yards away. Their backs were turned towards her, and her assailant of a few minutes past was evidently answering an appeal from his friend. She caught the last words as she drew near: "I will go to the stable and look after the mare. ... You can take them up to the house without my help. I can't stand any more of that girl—"

He wheeled round as he spoke, and found himself face to face with Cornelia. They stared each other full in the eyes, like two combatants measuring strength before a battle.



CHAPTER EIGHT.

To Elma it was still a dream, but a dream growing momentarily more wonderful and thrilling. The stupor in her head was passing away, and there was nothing painful in the lassitude which remained. She was just weak and languid, content to lie still in the sunshine, her head resting on one of the cushions from the overturned cart, her eyes turning instinctively to the bronzed face which bent over her with such tender solicitude.

As for Geoffrey Greville, he was realising with a curious mingling of dismay and elation that the moment was fated to be historic in the story of his life. For the last two years he had been haunted by the vision of Elma Ramsden's flower-like face at odd, but by no means inconsequent, moments. When, for instance, his mother expatiated on the duty of marriage for a man in his position, and extolled the fascinations of certain youthful members of county society; when he walked down the long picture-gallery, and regarded the space on the wall where his wife's portrait might some day hang beside his own; when he sat at the head of his table, and looked across at the opposite space; why was it that in such moments as these the face of this one girl flashed forward, and persistently blocked the way? Elma Ramsden!—just a little, insignificant girl, whom he had met at half a dozen garden parties, and at homes. She did not even belong to the county set, but was the daughter of a funny, dumpy little mother, who disapproved on principle of everything smart and up-to-date—himself emphatically included. The good lady evidently regarded him as a wicked, fox-like creature, whose society was fraught with danger to her tender bantling. He had seen her clucking with agitation as he had sat with Elma beneath the trees.

Mrs Greville had a calling acquaintance with the Park ladies, and occasionally referred with a blighting toleration to "Goody Ramsden," but she never by any chance mentioned Mrs Ramsden's daughter. Geoffrey was doubtful whether she realised the fact of Elma's existence. Up till now he himself had drifted along in the easy-going manner of bachelors approaching their thirtieth birthday before the crucial moment arrives which acts as a spark to smouldering flames. He had indulged in lazy day-dreams in which Elma played the part of heroine; had thoroughly enjoyed her society when fate placed her in his way, without, however, exerting himself to take any active steps to secure additional meetings. This afternoon as he walked across the meadow with his friend, he would have indignantly denied the accusation that he was in love, but the historic moment was at hand. A cry for help rang in his ears; above the hedge he caught a glimpse of a white, frenzied face, and saw two hands held out towards him in appeal.

The anguished grip of the heart with which he realised at once Elma's identity, and her peril, was a revelation of his own feelings which could not be reasoned away. As he knelt by her side in those first anxious moments he was perhaps almost as much stunned as herself, for in the flash of an eye his whole life had altered. Where he had doubted, he was now convinced; where he had frivoled, he was in deep, intense earnest; the fact that there would be certain difficulties to overcome only seemed to strengthen the inward determination. If Elma would accept him, she should be his wife though the whole world were against them!

And Elma lay and looked at him with her dazed, lovely eyes, allowing him to arrange the cushions under her head with a simple acquiescence which seemed to him the sweetest thing in the world. Now that the first dread was relieved, he felt a guilty satisfaction in the knowledge of her prostration, and of the damage done to horse and cart. It was impossible that she could drive back to Norton without some hours' rest, and a special providence seemed to have arranged that the accident should take place close to his own gates. He was too much engrossed in his own interests to notice the look which was exchanged between his friend and Cornelia, and as the Captain turned, away discomfited, Geoffrey eagerly addressing his remarks to the girl herself.

"I want to get Miss Ramsden up to the house. She must rest and be looked after, and my mother will be delighted—I mean, she'd be awfully distressed if you didn't come. It's not far—only a few hundred yards up the avenue. I could carry her easily if she can't manage to walk."

But at that Elma sat up, a spot of colour shining on her white cheeks.

"Ah, but I can; I'm better! I'm really quite well. But it's giving so much trouble. I could wait in the lodge..."

"Indeed you couldn't; I wouldn't allow it! There's no accommodation there, and the children would annoy you. Take my arm and lean on me. Miss—er—your friend will support you on the other side."

"Briskett!" volunteered Cornelia, bowing towards him in gracious acknowledgment. "Now then, Elma, up with you! Guess you're about sick of that bank by this time. There's nothing to it but nerves, and that won't prevent you walking with a prospect of tea ahead. You're not half as bad as you think you are."

Elma thought she was a good deal worse! The sudden rise to her feet, drawn by two strong hands, brought with it a return of the faintness, and for a moment it seemed as if Geoffrey would have to carry out his first proposition. She struggled bravely, however, and Cornelia forcibly ducked her head forward—a sensible, though on the face of it, rather a callous remedy, of which Geoffrey plainly disapproved. He drew the little hand through his arm, pressing it close to his side, and thus linked together the three made their way to the lodge-gate and up the winding avenue.

As they went Cornelia kept casting quick, scrutinising glances at her companions, her brain busily at work trying to place this stranger, whose name had never been mentioned in her hearing, but who yet appeared to take such a deep interest in Elma's welfare. Once, with a sigh, the girl had regretted that her mother disapproved of "some of the nicest people in the neighbourhood." Was Geoffrey Greville to be regarded as representing that vague quantity? Again, with a second sigh, Elma had confessed that the county people on their side showed no desire to cultivate her own acquaintance. This afternoon, with a blush, she had maintained that the best road lay through Steadway, though a signpost persistently pointed in another direction. Two sighs, and a blush! In the court of love such evidence is weighty, while of still greater import was the manner in which Elma clung for support to the arm on the right, leaving only the gentlest pressure on that to the left.

As for the man himself, there could be no doubt that he had reached the stage of entire subjugation. His whole bearing was instinct with possessive pride, his strong, bronzed features softened into a beautiful tenderness as he watched the flickering colour in Elma's cheeks, and smiled encouragement into her eyes. He had a good face; a trifle arrogant and self-satisfied, no doubt, but these were failings which would be mitigated by the power of an honest love. For the rest, he looked strong, and brave, and true. Cornelia's frown gave way to a smile of approval.

"I guess it's just about as 'cute a little romance as you can read for a dollar, and just as English! Her mommar don't approve of him, 'cause he's smart and worldly; and his mommar don't approve of her, 'cause she lives in a row, and don't mix with the tip-top set. She sits still and mopes, and he sets to and kills the first thing that comes handy, to distract his thoughts, and they're going to stick right there till the door's closed, and the lamps give out. This is where you step in, Cornelia Briskett! You've got to waltz round and fix up this business while you've a chance.—I guess I've been a bit too bracing. I'd better begin to feel a bit scared about Elma's health. ... Seems to me she's had a pretty bad shock and wants to settle right in, and not risk another move for the next three or four days!" ...

The scarlet lips twisted whimsically, and a dimple dipped in the white cheek. If there was one thing Cornelia loved above another, it was to feel herself a kind of Deus ex machina, and she experienced a malicious satisfaction in ranging herself on the side of the lovers, in the battle between youth and age.

Presently a curve in the road brought the house into view, and the sight of its mullioned windows and old grey stone gables brought with it a sudden remembrance of her own dishevelled condition. The disengaged hand darted up to her head to set the cap at the correct angle, and from thence continued a patting, smoothing-out excursion, productive of distinctly smartening results. Fortunately the long coat had sheltered the dress from harm, so that on reaching the house she could shed it and look "just so." As for Elma, it was a comfort to see her a little "mussed," for in her conscientious adherence to order she sacrificed much of the picturesque nature of her beauty.

The great oak door stood hospitably open. At the inner glass door an old butler appeared, and was immediately despatched by the Squire to find his mistress, and inform her that her son had brought home two ladies who had experienced a carriage accident at the gates. Meantime Geoffrey led the way into the drawing-room, and while Elma rested thankfully against the cushions on her chair, Cornelia enjoyed her first view of a room in a typical English country house. It fascinated her by its very difference from the gorgeous apartments which took its place in her own country. Space, daintiness, simplicity—these were the first impressions. Long French windows standing open to a velvet stretch of lawn; deep chairs and couches covered with chintz; pale green walls and the fragrance of many flowers. A closer inspection showed the intrinsic value and beauty of each detail which went to make up the charming whole. Sheraton cabinets holding specimens of rare old china; ivory miniatures of Grevilles, dead and gone, simpering in pink-and-white beauty in the velvet cases on the walls; water-colours signed by world- famed artists; wonderful old sconces holding altar-like lines of candles; everywhere the eye turned, something beautiful, rare and interesting, and through it all an unobtrusive good taste, which placed the most precious articles in quiet corners, and filled the foreground with a bower of flowers.

"It's just—gaudy!" said Cornelia to herself, using her favourite superlative with sublime disregard of suitability. She looked across the room to where Elma sat, resting her head against a brocaded blue cushion. One of the half-dozen cases of miniatures hung just behind the chair, and it was impossible not to notice the likeness between the living face and those portrayed on the ivory backgrounds. Actual similarity of feature might not exist, but the delicate colouring, the fine lines of the features, the loosened cloud of hair, made the resemblance striking enough. If some day Elma's own miniature should be added to the number, it would fully sustain the reputation for the beauty so long enjoyed by the women of the house.

Coming back from the voyage of comparison, Cornelia's eyes met those of the Squire fixed upon her in a questioning fashion. He averted them instantly, but all his determination could not restrain the mantling blush which dyed his cheek, and she had little doubt that his own thoughts had been a duplicate of her own. Before the silence was broken, however, the door opened, and Mrs Greville entered the room.



CHAPTER NINE.

It was Mrs Greville's pleasure to be addressed as "Madame" by the members of her household, and the name had spread until it was now adopted as a sobriquet by the entire neighbourhood. The tradesmen instructed their underlings to pay implicit attention to "Madame's" orders; the townsfolk discussed "Madame's" clothes and manner, alternately aggrieved and elated, as she smiled upon them, or stared them haughtily in the face. Her friends adopted it for ease, and Mrs Greville herself was well pleased that it should be so. She would have disdained a cheap title, but it seemed fitting that she should be known by a more distinguished and exclusive designation than the vulgar "Mrs", which was equally the property of the meanest of her dependants. She was a graceful woman, with a narrow face, aquiline features, and a society smile. She dressed perfectly, in soft satins and brocades; not black, but of rich, subdued colours, softened by fichus of lace, while her wonderfully silky white hair was dressed in the latest and most elaborate fashion. To-day, her dress was of a dull heliotrope, a bunch of Parma violets was fastened in the folds of the fichu at the breast, ruffles of old point d'Alencon lace fell back from her wrists, and as she moved there came the glint of diamonds, discreetly hidden away. Elma recalled her mother's afternoon costume of black cashmere, with prickly jet edging on the cuffs, and felt several degrees more faint and weary from pure nervous collapse. Cornelia beamed in artistic satisfaction.

"Mother, you know Mrs Ramsden! This is her daughter, and her friend, Miss—er—Briskett. I happened to be behind a hedge just as their cart overturned. It was all the fault of that lunatic, Mrs Moss—what must she do but stick her blessed parrot cage on the side of the road, to frighten stray horses out of their wits! It's a mercy they were not all killed. Miss Ramsden has had a severe shock."

"Poor dear! How trying for you!" ejaculated Madame, in gushing tones of sympathy. (What she really said was "Paw dar!" as Cornelia was quick to note; storing up the fact, to produce next time she herself was accused of murdering the English language!) "How quite too senseless of Mrs Moss! She really is an impossible woman—but so clean! One can't expect brains, can one, in persons of that class? So sweet of you to come up, and let us do what we can to comfort you. It is really our fault, isn't it? Employers' liability, you know, and that kind of thing! Is the horse hurt? Your hands are hot, dear, but you look white. Now what is it to be? Tea? Wine? Sal volatile? Tell me just what you think would help you most!"

She held Elma's hand in her own, and stretched out the other towards Cornelia, thus making both girls feel the warmth of her welcome. Elma smiled her pretty, shy smile, but left it to her friend to reply. She was considerably astonished at the sudden development of anxiety which the answer displayed.

"I guess, if you don't mind, Miss Ramsden had better lie right-down for a spell. She's had some brandy, and a cup of tea would be pretty comforting, but it's rest she needs most of all. It's a pretty hard strain sitting by, and watching someone else driving straight to glory. When you've got something to do, there's not so much time to think. The spill was bound to come, so it was up to me to choose the softest place!"

Mrs Greville stared, in obvious disregard of the meaning of the words.

"Why, you are American! How odd! I've never met an American in Norton before, in all the years I have lived here!"

"I'm not a mite surprised!" replied Cornelia, with a depth of meaning which her hearers failed to fathom. They imagined that she was humbly appreciative of her own good fortune in visiting a neighbourhood as yet preserved from the desecration of the American tourists, whereas she was mentally reviewing the sleepy shops where the assistants took a solid five minutes to procure twopence change, the broken-down flies which crawled to and from the station; the tortoise-like round of village life.

"If Providence had sent over half a dozen more like me a dozen years ago, there's no saying but they might be rubbing their knuckles into their eyes by now, and beginning to wake up! I've got to butt right in, if I'm to make any mark by the end of three months!"

Such were the young woman's mental reflections, while Geoffrey rang the bell and anticipated his mother's order for tea. He was anxious that Elma should lie down then and there, but she refused to do so, with a glance from the delicate cushions to her own dusty boots. Cornelia's openly expressed solicitude had had the not unnatural result of increasing her feeling of exhaustion, and the colour flamed and faded in her cheeks as she endeavoured to drink tea and take part in the conversation which ensued. Mother and son watched her continuously, the one with unconcealed anxiety, the other with a wholly impersonal admiration, as though the girl were a new article of furniture, which fitted unusually well into its niche. Her air was kindly enough, but too dispassionate to be sympathetic. Elma Ramsden hardly counted as an independent human being in the estimation of Madame Greville, but she was a lovely piece of flesh and blood, at whom it was pleasant to look. It would be a thousand pities if her beauty were marred. It was more in a spirit of a connoisseur than a friend that she made the inquiry which her son was already longing to prompt.

"My dear child, you look very ill! How are we going to get you home? Your own cart is injured, you say. I think you had better have the brougham, where you can rest against the cushions. You shall have our horses, of course. They won't run away with you, though I don't say they have never done it before! I like a horse with a spirit of its own, but these two have been out to-day, so they ought to be pretty quiet."

At this reassuring speech Elma turned white to the lips, and for a moment swayed in her seat, as if about to faint. Cornelia sprang to her side, while Geoffrey whispered to his mother in urgent tones, to which she listened with lifted brows, half-petulant, half-amused. A final nod and shrug proved her consent, and she turned to Elma with a gracious air of hospitality. Madame could never be less than gracious to a guest in her own house!

"My dear child, forgive me! I did not realise how unnerved you were. Of course, you must not dream of returning home to-night. Your mother and I are old friends, and she will trust me to take care of you. Your friend will tell her that you are going to rest quietly here until you are better. Quite a charity, I assure you, to keep me company! It will remind me of the days before my own Carol deserted me for that monster, and went off to India. Only daughters should not be allowed to marry in their mother's lifetime. Remember that when your time comes! You won't, of course, but it's horribly ungrateful all the same. Now that's settled! To-morrow they can send you out some things, but for to-night I can supply all you need. A tea-gown fits anyone, and I've a dream which has just come home, that will suit you to distraction. Don't worry any more, dear—it's all settled!"

But Elma was palpitating with agitation. That she, Elma Ramsden, should be invited to spend several days at Norton Manor seemed altogether too unlooked for and extraordinary a happening to be realised. She was overcome with gratitude, with regret, with incredulity, for of course it was impossible to accept. Madame could not be in earnest! The invitation was merely a polite form of speech! Even if she did mean it, her own mother would strongly disapprove, for did she not consider Madame a hopeless worldling, and her son a wolf in sheep's clothing, a type of everything that a young man should not be? Oh, no! it was quite, quite impossible, all the more so that she longed, longed intensely; longed from the very bottom of her heart, to accept!

Elma straightened herself in her chair, protesting, explaining, thanking, and refusing in confused broken sentences, to which none of her hearers paid the least attention. Mrs Greville and her son waived objections aside with the easy certainty of victory, while Cornelia cried briskly—

"You don't hev a choice! I undertook to bring you out, but I won't take you back if I know it, until you ken sit behind a horse without going off into hysterics every time he tosses his mane. Your mother'd be a heap more scared to see you coming back looking like a death's head, than to hear that you were comfortably located with a friend till you pulled round. I guess there's nothing for you to do but to say 'Thank you,' as prettily as you know how, and settle down to be comfortable. Why make a fuss?"

That last exhortation was decisive! Elma blushingly subsided into the silence which gives consent, and was forthwith escorted to the room which was to be given over to her use, there to rest quietly until it should be time to dress for dinner.

"Unless she would like to go to bed at once. Do you think that would be the better plan?" Madame asked Cornelia in a whispered aside, but that young lady was quick to veto a retirement which would be so detrimental to the progress of the "cure" which she had at heart.

"Why, no, indeed! To be left alone to worry herself ill, brooding over the whole affair, is about the worst thing that could happen to her just now. It was only a play-baby spill, but it seems the worst accident that the world ever knew to her. She's got to be roused! I'll sit up here and see that she rests quietly for an hour, and then I'll fix her up for the evening, so she can lie on a sofa and listen while you talk. I must get home by seven o'clock to soothe the old ladies. It would be real sweet if you'd lend something to take me back! I'm afraid I ken't walk all the way."

Madame laughed pleasantly.

"I wish we could keep you, too, but it would not be kind to Mrs Ramsden to leave her with only a message to-night. I must hope to have the pleasure another time. You American girls are so bright and amusing, and I love to be amused. My son wishes me to have a companion, but a well-conducted young woman who knew her place would exasperate me to distraction, and I should kill anyone who took liberties, so the situation is a little hard to fill. Do tell me who you are? Where are you staying in Norton, and how long have you been in England?"

"Just over three weeks, and I like it pretty well, thank you," returned Cornelia, anticipating the inevitable question, "though I guess I've not struck the liveliest spot in the land. I'm located with my aunt, Miss Briskett, in the Park, and my poppar's coming over to fetch me in the fall."

Madame's interest waned with surprising suddenness. Of an American girl, almost more than any other, is that worldly adage true that it is wise to treat her politely, since there is no knowing whom she may ultimately marry.

A girl of such striking appearance and obvious affluence might belong to anyone, or become anything in these radical, topsy-turvy days. The mother of a son with broad acres and small income could not but remember that a large proportion of present-day duchesses hail from across the water, but it was a very different matter when the young woman suddenly assumed the personality of the niece of a middle-class spinster resident at the Manor gates. To Mrs Greville, Miss Briskett stood as a type of all that was narrow, conventional, and depressing. As much as she could trouble herself to dislike any woman outside her own world, she disliked the rigid, strait-laced spinster, and was fully aware that the dislike was returned. Miss Briskett invariably declined the yearly invitations which were doled out to her in company with the other townsfolk, satisfied that in so doing she proclaimed a dignified disapproval of the frivolities of the Manor. "Thank goodness, that old cat's not coming!" was Madame's invariable reception of the refusals, but at the bottom of her heart she resented the fact that so insignificant a person should dare to reject her hospitality.

"Miss Briskett's niece. Really! How ver-ry interesting!" she drawled, in a tone eloquent of the most superlative indifference. Her easy graciousness of manner became suddenly instinct with patronage, her eyelids drooped with languid disdain. She sauntered round the room, giving a touch here and there, turned over the garments which her maid had laid on the bed ready for Elma's use, and finally sailed towards the door. "We will leave you to rest, then, as long as you think fit. Pray ring for anything you require!"

The door closed, leaving Elma to snoodle down on her pillows, with a sigh of relief, while Cornelia lifted her skirt in both hands and danced a pas seul, bowing low towards the doorway, blowing kisses from her finger-tips the while, after the manner of riders in a circus.

She pranced and pirouetted, while Elma protested in shocked surprise. It struck her that Cornelia's anxiety as to her own condition had died a remarkably sudden death with the disappearance of Mrs Greville from the room. A pantomimic display was not the best way to ensure quiet and repose, nor was there much sympathy to be read in the expression of the twinkling golden eyes. Elma found herself blushing before their gaze, and guiltily drooping her lashes.

"Cornelia, what do you mean?"

"Columns, my dear, which sweet little buds like you ought to know nothing about! You lie still, and look pretty, and ask no questions; that's your part in the play! You've got to remember that you've had a shock, and your nervous system's all to pieces. You don't have no pain, nor suffering, and anyone to look at you might think you were quite robust; but just as soon as you make the least exertion, you're all of a flop, and have to be waited on hand and foot!—That's so, isn't it now!"

Elma's delicate brows were furrowed in her attempt to make out what Cornelia did mean, and what she didn't! There was a note in her voice which did not ring true—a good-naturedly mocking note, which accorded ill with the words themselves. She blushed still deeper, and put on an air of wounded dignity.

"I certainly am very far from well. My head feels so light and swimming. I should be very sorry to have to walk far at present. Coming upstairs just now tried me horribly."

Cornelia clapped her hands in approval.

"Capital! capital! Keep it at that, and you can't do better. Go slow, and don't try to mend all of a sudden. Even when you do begin to buck up, in a day or two's time, the very sight of a horse will set you palpitating for all you're worth. You'll kind-er feel as if you'd rather crawl home on all fours than sit behind the steadiest old nag that was ever raised. It's three or four miles from home, isn't it, or maybe more—much too far for an invalid to attempt, for a week at least. Just a little saunter in the grounds will be all you're fit for this side Sunday, with someone to support you carefully as you go! ... You'll be apt to turn giddy if you go about alone. ... Have you gotten that nicely off by heart now, so you won't go forgetting at the wrong moments?"

"Why should I forget? Surely my own feelings will be my best guide?"

"Yes, 'um!" said Cornelia, demurely. She let her lids droop over her tell-tale eyes, and stood beside the couch for a long, eloquent moment, during which the flickering colour deepened on Elma's cheek; then turned aside, took down a book from a shelf, and settled herself comfortably on a wicker chair.

"I guess we understand one another, and there's no more to be said. Now for one hour by the clock you've to shut your eyes and be quiet. Go to sleep if you can! I'll wake you up in time for the prinking."

Elma buried her head in the cushions and shed a silent tear. Cornelia was laughing at her, and she could not bear it. Her mind, trained to habits of introspection, began at once to wonder if she were really pretending, as the other seemed to think; if the agitation which she felt was not so much the result of the accident, as caused by the excitement of seeing Geoffrey Greville, and meeting his ardent glances. The prospect of remaining in the same house and of meeting him from hour to hour was incredible but delightful, yet Elma would give it up a hundred times over, rather than accept hospitality under false pretences. Was it her duty to insist upon returning home? Should she announce that she felt so much refreshed by her rest that there was no longer any reason why she should be treated as an invalid? The sinking feeling of disappointment which followed this inspiration was easily mistaken for a physical symptom. Yes. She was ill! It was quite true that she felt faint. Surreptitiously she felt her own pulse, and was convinced that its beat had increased. She thought of the expression of Geoffrey's eyes as he lifted her from the ground—blushed, and felt certain that she was feverish. Yes, she would stay! It would be foolish and ungrateful to refuse. Mother had always warned her not to run risks where health was concerned...

A soft little sigh of contentment sounded through the room. If Elma had been fifteen years younger this was the moment at which a warm, sticky little thumb would have crept into her mouth, as a sign that earthly cares were swept aside, and that she had resigned herself to slumber; being a young woman of sweet and twenty, she snoodled her head into the pillow, and fell fast asleep.

For over an hour she slept, and woke to find Cornelia leaning back in her chair watching her, while the book lay closed on her lap. For a moment she hardly recognised the face which she had always seen animated, self-confident, and defiant, but which was now softened into so sweet a tenderness. A lightning thought flashed through her mind that it was thus Cornelia would look, if ever in the time to come she watched by the bedside of her own child. She smiled lazily, and stretched out a caressing hand.

"Why, Cornelia, have you been sitting there all the time? How dull for you! How long have I been asleep?"

"It's half after five, so we must be lively, if I am to get back in time to settle the old ladies, and get ready for dinner. Hustle now! I'll help you to shed your own duds, and then pipe up for the transformation! That tea-gown's the limit! I thought I knew the last thing there was to learn about clothes, but I wouldn't be above going in for a course of too-ition from the woman who fixed those frills! This is going to be an historic occasion for you, my friend. Your sinful nature is kinder dead to the joys of frillies, but there's going to be a big awakening! The woman isn't born who could come out of that gown the same as she went in!" She lifted the blue serge skirt over Elma's head, and surveyed the plain hem with tragic eyes. "It's pretty hard luck to be born a woman instead of a man, but it softens it some to have a swirl of frills round one's ankles! If I'd to poke around with a hem, I'd give up altogether.—Now, then, sit still where you are, while I fix your hair! I'm going to do it a way of my own, that will be more comfy for leaning up against cushions. If you don't like it you can say so, but I guess you will."

She brushed the soft light tresses to the top of Elma's head, and arranged them skilfully in massed-up curls and loops. From time to time she retreated a step or two as if to study the effect, returning to heighten a curl, or loosen the sweep over the forehead. In reality she was reproducing, as nearly as possible, the coiffure of one of the beauties in miniature hanging on the drawing-room walls behind the couch on which Elma would probably pass the evening. It might chance that the eyes of mother or son would observe the likeness between the two girlish faces, a fact which could not but score in Elma's favour!

When the dainty white robe was fastened, and each ribbon and lace patted into its place by skilful fingers, then, and not till then, Elma was allowed to regard herself in the glass. It was a startling revelation of her own beauty, but the predominant feeling was not elation, but distress. Accustomed as she was to a puritan-like simplicity, Elma felt almost shocked at her own changed appearance. The sweeping folds of the gown gave additional height to her figure, her neck looked like a round white pillar above the square of lace; the quaintly arranged tresses gave a touch of piquancy to her gentle features. An involuntary and quite impersonal admiration was followed by quick repentance.

"Cornelia, I can't! I can't go down like this! I daren't do it. I look like an actress—so dressed up! Just as if I wanted to look nice!"

Cornelia sniffed eloquently.

"Well—don't you?"

"Yes, but—but I don't like to look as if I did! Oh, Cornelia, couldn't I put on my own dress again, and do my hair the old way? I'd be so much happier!"

"The Grevilles wouldn't! You've got to remember that they are used to finery, and not to having young women sitting round in blue serge in the evening. It seems gaudy to you, but it's just dead, everyday-level to them, and won't raise a ripple. You look a Daisy, and I'm proud of you, and if you had a mite of feeling you'd say 'Thank you,' instead of finding fault after all my work!"

Elma wheeled round; surprised another glance of tender admiration, and held out impulsive hands.

"Cornelia, you are good! I do thank you; I know quite well that you— you are trying—I do love you, Cornelia!"

"Oh, shucks!" cried Cornelia, hastily. "Don't gush; I hate gush! Take my arm, and come along downstairs. Lean on it pretty heavily, mind. Your spirit's too much for your strength, and you are apt to forget that you are an invalid. You've got to keep a check on yourself, my dear, and remember that a nervous shock's a ticklish thing, and needs a lot of tending!"

Elma's head drooped; she twisted her fingers together, and glanced beneath the lashes at her friend's face—glanced timidly, questioningly, as it were, in dread.

Cornelia deliberately—winked!



CHAPTER TEN.

Geoffrey was lounging about in the hall as the two girls descended the wide staircase. His attitude gave the impression that he had been impatiently awaiting their advent, and, as he took in Elma's changed looks in one comprehensive sweep, his eyes brightened with an expression before which her lids drooped in embarrassment. He came forward eagerly to lead the way into the drawing-room, where Madame sat reading by an open window, and a sofa had been pulled forward and banked with cushions in readiness for the invalid. She smiled a welcome as the little procession entered the room, and looked on with an amused scrutiny while Cornelia shook out the cushions, skilfully altering their position so that the blue brocade should form the background for Elma's fair head. She did not attempt to rise, but her words were kindly enough, if a trifle patronising.

"Well, dear, and how are you now after your rest? We must take care of you, and not let you get overtired. Sure you are comfortable? You look too sweet in that gown! I shall never have the heart to wear it after you. Isn't it wicked that a woman is obliged to live on after her complexion has faded? I could bear any affliction better than watching myself growing uglier every day. ... I should have a little pillow tucked into your back. ... Sure you won't feel the draught? That's right! And you really must leave us, Miss Briskett? Couldn't possibly stay to dinner? I suppose it would be unkind! The dog-cart is waiting for you. I told them to have it round by seven. Geoffrey will drive you home, of course. After your adventure this afternoon we should not be happy to leave you to a groom. He'll see you safely to the door, and report to us on your safe arrival."

Geoffrey's face clouded involuntarily. He had mapped out a much more interesting programme for himself, deciding to slip upstairs and dress for dinner so early that he should be able to descend the moment that his mother was securely shut into her own room. Madame's evening toilette was a matter of three-quarters of an hour at least, during which time he would have Elma all to himself—to speak to, to look at, to make her look at him. Lovely creature! He had not realised how beautiful she was, and so sweet, and gentle, and shy. What a marvel to meet a shy girl in these days of loud-voiced, smoking, tailor-made women! A man may appreciate the society of a twentieth-century damsel whom he designates as a "rattling good sort," but he wants a womanly woman for his wife. Elma was womanliness personified—a sweet pink-and- white, softly-curved creature, whose eyes regarded the masculine creature with an unspoken tribute of homage. "You are so big!" they seemed to say; "I am so little! Oh, please be kind to me!" Inspired by that look, Geoffrey was capable of fighting dragons on her behalf!

And now he was consigned to drive home a tiresome American girl, who was remarkably well able to take care of herself! Mentally he fumed; outwardly, being a man of the world, he smiled, and murmured "Delighted!" with an imitation of enthusiasm which won Cornelia's admiration.

"One to you, Mr Greville! You played up real well," was the mental comment, as she dropped a kiss on Elma's brow and listened to her anxious messages.

"Tell mother not to be anxious. Tell her I'm not really ill—only silly and nervous. Tell her I shall soon be well—"

"That's all right, my dear. I'll cool her fevered brow. ... Your mother'll be a circumstance compared with Aunt Soph! I'll have to promise never to look at a horse again while I'm in this country." She turned towards Mrs Greville with easy self-possession.

"It's real good of you to send me back, and take such care of us both. Good-afternoon. So pleased to have met you!"

Madame extended her thin, ringed hand, laughing softly the while. As she had said, she loved to be amused, and this American girl was quite too ridiculously audacious! Actually one might have supposed that she believed herself to be speaking to an equal!

Cornelia and Geoffrey Greville passed along the hall, with its great oak fireplace filled in with branches of spreading beech, its decorations of tapestry, of armour, of stags' heads, of cases of stuffed birds. The ceiling was beamed with oak, the floor was polished to a dangerous brightness, and covered in the centre by an ancient Persian rug. Cornelia had never seen such an interior except as it is imitated on the stage. Her own tessellated, be-fountained entrance hall in New York was as far removed from it on the one side, as on the other was the square of oil-cloth, decorated with a hat-stand and two mahogany chairs, which at The Nook was dignified by the same title. She admired, but admired with reservations. "Kinder mouldy!" summoned up the ultimate verdict.

Geoffrey moved moodily towards the doorway. Though bitterly annoyed at his mother's interference, he was too much of a gentleman to wreak his vengeance on the innocent cause of his exile. As a mitigation of the penance, it occurred to him that he might occupy the time of absence by talking of Elma since he might not talk to her; but Providence was merciful, and came to his aid at the eleventh hour. The inner door opened, and Captain Guest appeared upon the threshold, cap in hand, evidently returning from a solitary ramble, and by no means overjoyed to have arrived at such an inopportune moment. He bowed, murmured some inarticulate greeting, and would have passed by had not Geoffrey eagerly blocked the way. For the moment the claims of friendship were non- existent; he did not care whether Guest were pleased or annoyed; he was simply a means of escape, to be seized on without compunction.

"Halloa, here you are! Just the man I wanted," he cried genially. "You shall have the privilege of driving Miss Briskett home. I was going to take her myself, but I've got some rather—er—pressing business to attend to before dinner"—he chuckled mentally over the application of the words—"so I'll stand aside in your favour. We are not going to trust her out of our sight until she is delivered safely into her aunt's keeping. Awfully sorry, Miss Briskett, but we shall meet again! You'll come up to see Miss Ramsden, won't you? Do come! Come on Saturday—we could make up a game of tennis if she is fit enough by that time."

He helped Cornelia to her seat courteously, yet with an underlying haste which could not be concealed. Captain Guest gave him one look—a murderous look—and murmured, "Delighted, I'm shaw!" in tones of ice. Cornelia felt "ugly," and looked delightful; head erect, lips pursed, eyes a-flash.

"Just as mad as he can be, to be obliged to be civil to 'the girl' for a short half hour! Guess there's one or two, several sizes bigger than him, who would cross the ocean to-morrow for the chance! He's English— real English!—the sort that's fixed up with liquid prejudice for blood, and eye-glasses made to see nothing on earth but the British Empire. Rather skeery at the present moment at being set down beside a bold American hussy, with only a groom as chaperon! ... Well! I always was tender-hearted. I'll pile it on all I know, to fix him in his opinions. I'm made so's I ken't endoore to disappoint anyone in his expectations!"

She turned deliberately to stare at the silent figure by her side. Certainly he was a fine figure of a man! Her own countrymen who would have travelled so far as to take his place, would have to be giants if the "several sizes" bigger were to be taken in literal earnest. The lean cheek showed the square formation of the jaw, the lips were clean shaven, the eyes dark, deep-set, thickly lashed and browed, the only handsome feature in the face. Cornelia mentally pulled herself together, as Guest turned his head, and cast a fleeting glance at her beneath his drooping lids.

"I was sorry to hear that your friend is too ill to be moved. I imagined at the time that she was worse than you realised."

"She thinks she is, anyhow, and that's about as good as the real thing—perhaps better, where health's concerned. Some people don't need much to upset 'em—Elma's one! I guess there's never much snap to her!"

The dark brows arched expressively. "Really! I am afraid I hardly— er—understand the expression!"

"You wouldn't!" returned Cornelia, calmly. "It don't seem to flourish in this part of the country. At home we reckon no one is much use without it."

"So I have heard!" Captain Guest's understanding of the term seemed to have been more complete than he would acknowledge. "Our standards differ, however. 'Snap' may be a useful commodity in the business world, but one resents its intrusion into private life. The very name is objectionable in connection with a girl like Miss Ramsden—with any English girl!"

Cornelia curled her red lips.

"Yes, they flop; and you like 'em floppy! Kind of ivy round a stalwart oak, or a sweet, wayside rose. A m-o-oss rose!" No amount of description could convey the intonation which she threw into that short word. The "o" was lengthened indefinitely, giving a quaint, un-English effect to the word, which sounded at the same time incredibly full of suggestion. Guest flushed with annoyed understanding, even before Cornelia proceeded to enlarge. "The m-o-oss makes a nice, soft wadding all round, to keep the little buds safe and hidden. We use it quite a good deal at home for packing curios. Dried moss! It's apt to get a bit stale with keeping, don't you think?"

"No doubt; but even so it retains some of its fragrance. In its worst state I should be sorry to exchange it for"—it was now the Captain's turn to throw all his power of expression into one short word—"snap!"

Cornelia's laugh held a curious mingling of irritation and pleasure.

It was poor fun having a quarrel all to herself, and it whetted her appetite to find a combatant who was capable of "hitting back." She sat up very straight in her seat, tossing her head backward in quick, assertive little jerks, and clasping her bare hands on her lap. Guest glanced at her curiously from his point of vantage in the rear. She was like no other girl whom he had met, but somewhere, in pictured form, he must surely have seen such a face, for it struck some sleeping chord of memory. A fantasy perhaps of some Norse goddess or Flame Deity; a wild, weird head, painted in reds and whites, with wonderful shaded locks, and small white face aglow with the fire within. His lips twisted in an involuntary smile. Could anything be more aggressively unlike "the sweet m-o-oss rose" of which she had spoken?

"I guess if you go to the root of things, a man's picture of a woman is cut out to fit into his own niche! If he's very big himself, there's only a little corner left for her—a nookey little corner where the moss can grow, but the plant don't have much scope to spread. If he don't take much stock of himself, he kind-er stands back, and gives her the front place. Then she gets her chance, and shoots ahead!"

Guest laughed in his turn; an exasperating little laugh, eloquent of an immense superiority and disdain.

"You speak in an allegory—an allegory of English and American life. I am quite aware that with you the sexes have reversed positions, that the man has sunk into a money-making machine, who slaves so that his wife may spend, while the woman devotes her whole life to dress and frivolity—"

"Have you ever been in my country?"

Cornelia was brought up short and sharp by an unexpected assent. To disparage America was an unforgivable offence, and she was prepared to denounce the judgment of ignorance in words of flame. Her anger was not abated, but merely turned in another direction, by the discovery that it was not ignorance, but blindness which she had now to denounce—the blindness of the obtuse Englishman who had been granted a privilege which he was incapable of appreciating.

"Some people travel about with such a heap of prejudice as baggage that they might as well stay at home and be done with it. Englishmen pride themselves on being conservative, and if they've once gotten an idea into their heads, it takes more'n they'll ever see with their eyes to get it out. I guess you spent your time in my country seeing just exactly what you'd calculated on from the start. It's big enough to rear all sorts, and enlightened enough to hold 'em!"

"It is certainly very big," assented Guest, in a tone of colourless civility. Cornelia hated him for his indifference, his patronage, his thinly-veiled antagonism. She was accustomed to a surfeit of masculine attention, and cherished a complacent faith in her own fascinations. It was a new and disagreeable experience to meet a man who, so far from exhibiting the well-known symptoms of subjugation, was honestly anxious to avoid her society. To feel herself disliked; to be a bore to two men—the one eager to hand her over to his friend, the other furious at being so trapped—can the world contain a deeper degradation for feminine three-and-twenty? Cornelia's mood changed before it. The excitement which had tided her over the events of the afternoon died away, to be succeeded by a wave of sickening home-sickness. She was lonesome—she wanted her poppar! She hated this pokey place, and everyone in it. She guessed she'd take a cabin in the first boat and sail away home. ... Her lips quivered, and she blinked rapidly to suppress a threatening tear. She would rather shoot herself than cry before this patronising Englishman, but it was almost past endurance to play second fiddle all the afternoon, be snubbed on the way home, and look forward to an evening spent in propitiating two nervous old ladies!

"I don't get any bou-quets in this play!" soliloquised Cornelia, sadly. "'Far's I can see, there isn't a soul in Great Britain that cares a dump about me at the present moment, except, maybe, Aunt Soph, and she'd like me a heap better at a distance!" She sighed involuntarily, and Captain Guest, watching her from beneath his lowered lids, was visited by an uncomfortable suspicion that while criticising another, his own behaviour had not been above reproach. Now that the girl had lost her aggressive air, and looked tired and sad, the feminine element made its appeal. Arrogance gave place to sympathy, prejudice to self-reproach. ... She was only a little thing after all, and as slim as a reed.

Rapidly reviewing the incidents of the afternoon, he was as much surprised as shocked at the recollection of his own discourtesy. This stranger had overheard his frank declaration of dislike, had probably also seen the glance of reproach which he had cast upon Greville in the porch before starting out on this drive. Twice in a few hours had he overstepped the bounds of politeness, he, who flattered himself on presenting an unimpeachable exterior, whatever might be the inward emotions! The explanation of the lapse was a suddenly conceived prejudice at the moment of first meeting. The girl's jaunty self- possession had struck a false note, and he had labelled her as callous and selfish. Now, looking at her afresh, he realised that this was not the face of a cold-hearted woman. This girl could fed! She was feeling now—feeling something painful, depressing. His eyes fell once more on her ungloved hands; he noticed that she held the right wrist tightly grasped, and even as he did so memory flashed back a picture of her as she had stood above him on the bank, her hands held in the same strained position. Afterwards he marvelled at the accuracy of that brain picture, but for the moment concern overwhelmed every other feeling. The inquiry came in quick, almost boyish tones, strangely different from his previous utterances.

"I say! have you hurt your wrist? You are holding it as if it were painful."

Cornelia turned to see a face as altered as the voice, elevated her brows in involuntary surprise, and drawled an indifferent assent.

"I guess I ricked it, hanging on to those reins. It was pulled half out of the sockets."

"Didn't you have anything done for it at the house?"

"No."

"Or tell anyone about it?"

"No."

"But why not?"

"I never yelp!" said Cornelia, proudly. She tilted her chin, and her eyes sent out a golden flash. "There was enough of that business going on without my joining in the chorus. If you're hurt, it don't mend it any to make a fuss."

Guest looked at her curiously.

"You certainly did not yelp! I thought you had escaped entirely, and that your friend had come in for all the knocking about. I'm awfully sorry. Sprains are beastly things. Look here, if you don't want to be crippled, it ought to be massaged at once! I'm knowing about sprains. Had an ankle cured in a couple of days by a Swedish fellow, which would have laid me up for weeks on the old methods. The great point is to keep the blood from congealing in the veins. Of course, it must be done in the right way, or it will do more harm than good. You set to work directly above the joint. Er—would you allow me?—might I show you for just a moment?"

The horse was ambling peacefully along a quiet lane, and as he spoke Captain Guest twisted the reins loosely round his own wrist and half held out his hands, then drew them back again in obvious embarrassment. The shyness was all on his own side, however, for Cornelia cried, "Why, suttenly!" in frank response, and pulled back the loose lawn sleeve to leave her wrist more fully exposed.

She watched with keen interest while he rubbed upward with gentle pressure, increased gradually as she showed no sign of pain or shrinking.

"That's the way—upward, always upward. Follow the line of the blood vessels—you see!" He traced a fine blue line with the end of a big finger, while the groom rolled curious eyes from behind, rehearsing a dramatic recital in the servants' hall. "After that has been done once or twice, tackle the joint itself, and you'll be astonished at the effect. Is there anyone in the house who can do it for you? You could do a good deal for yourself, you know, if the worst comes to the worst. Like this—give me the left hand, and I'll show you how to work the joint itself!"