Arrived at the Court, Mollie danced up to Mr Farrell, who sat reading by the library fire.

"I'm back again, Uncle Bernard," she cried; "I've had a beautiful time! I don't think I ever enjoyed myself so much! I'm bubbling over with gratitude. I've spent heaps of money! You said I might, and I've taken you at your word; and oh, I have got such lovely things in exchange!"

Mr Farrell looked at her grimly, but made no reply. His eyes turned towards his other niece, who stood silently in the background.

"And you," he queried, "have you been equally fortunate?"

Ruth's face clouded.

"I got what I needed," she said; "I have a headache. I'm going upstairs to rest."



CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.

MOLLIE'S REVENGE.

Three weeks had passed by. May had begun—an old-fashioned, well- conducted May—which was really like a foretaste of summer, instead of the shivery disappointment which so often condemns us to fire and furs. Jack's ankle was still troublesome, and though he could limp a few steps with the aid of a stick, his outdoor exercises were for the most part restricted to peregrinations in the old bath-chair. According to his account the period had been one of much tribulation, when patience and forbearance had been tried to their limits by the unnatural conduct of Miss Mollie Farrell. Instead of behaving like the proverbial ministering angel, Mollie proved uncertain, coy, and hard to please, and so full of mischievous pranks that Jack declared that his hair was turning white, though, if the truth be told, he looked remarkably bright and happy.

One morning it happened that a chance remark of Jack's offended Miss Mollie's dignity, and she vowed that she would be revenged. It seemed, however, that she had forgotten her displeasure for when Ruth and Victor went off to the village after lunch, she offered herself for the post of chairman, and wheeled the invalid to his favourite position beneath a flowering chestnut in front of the house.

The ankle was comfortable, and Jack, having lunched well, felt at peace with mankind and womankind into the bargain, and quite inclined to enjoy a pleasant talk. No sooner was he settled, however, than Miss Mollie drew a book from her pocket, and sitting down on the grass at a few yards' distance, deliberately turned her back upon him and began to read.

Jack watched these proceedings in silence, recognising both that he was being punished for having annoyed his companion in the morning, and also that he could not better frustrate her intentions than by preserving an appearance of undisturbed complacency. Accordingly, he sat quietly, studying the pretty figure in the blue linen dress, and noticing with satisfaction that the pages were flicked over more rapidly than was consistent with careful reading.

The book was evidently dull—so much the better! Miss Mollie might find her own punishment even heavier than his. He himself had nothing to read, but that did not distress him. A man is not to be pitied if he cannot make himself happy for an hour or so, even with a sprained ankle, when there is a charming landscape to gaze upon, of which a pretty girl makes the foreground.

Jack smiled lazily to himself as he thrust his hand into the tail-pocket of his coat, but his expression changed tragically as his fingers groped in vain for the bulky pouch which he had refilled just before leaving the house. Now, what in the world had happened to that pouch? Could it have fallen out of his pocket? Impossible! It was too securely weighted down by its own size. It could not have fallen, but it could easily have been stolen by the hands of his mischievous charioteer as she wheeled him across the grass. Jack had no doubt that that was exactly what had happened, and he congratulated himself on having smothered an exclamation of dismay, as he saw Mollie's head lifted cautiously from the pages as if to listen for the expected explosion.

Jack smiled to himself, knowing full well that her patience would soon be exhausted, and with it the limit of his punishment. It would be a joke to pretend to be asleep when, at last, it pleased her ladyship to turn round! The little witch no doubt was fully aware how pretty she looked, and fondly imagined that he was wrapt in admiration. It would be a useful snub to find that he had forgotten all about her. So Jack rested his head against the cushions of his chair, folded his arms, and kept his eyes rigorously shut for the next few minutes. He felt delightfully at ease, and the rays of the sun shining through the branches were at once so subdued, and so comforting, that it came to pass that what he had plotted in fun came about in earnest, and at the end of a few minutes his lids were tightly closed, and his breath came through his lips in long, regular respirations.

Mollie heard the sound, and smiled derisively.

"As if I should believe for one moment that he had gone to sleep!" said she to herself, with a tilt of the saucy head; but as the moments passed by, the perfection of the imitation began to disturb her equanimity; the last breath, for example, approaching perilously near a snore! She turned cautiously, inch by inch, until a glimpse of the bath-chair could be obtained, with a fair head drooping upon the cushions. Jack was asleep! Actually, and in very truth he had calmly slumbered off in defiance of her displeasure.

Mollie arose in her wrath, and stood over the unconscious figure, meditating upon the next step. If Jack Melland imagined for one moment that she was going to mount guard over his slumbers, he would find himself vastly mistaken; yet she dared not leave him unprotected, for the ground sloped away from the tree, and a violent movement on the part of its occupant would be enough to send the chair racing down the incline. She stood and pondered, then, drawing a handkerchief from her pocket, crept on tip-toe to the back of the chair and tied the handle to a convenient bough. It would be almost impossible for Jack, crippled as he was, to raise himself and turn round sufficiently to undo the knots; so, after testing their firmness a second time, Mollie took a circuitous path to the house, there to amuse herself for an hour or more, until Mr Jack had time to awake and repent himself of his audacity.

The awaking came unexpectedly quickly. Perhaps Jack's slumbers had been disturbed by Mollie's movements, quiet though they had been; certain it is that she was hardly out of sight before he stirred uneasily, blinked once or twice, and finally sat erect in a spasm of remembrance. He had fallen asleep, not in pretence but in actual fact; for how long he had slept he had no idea, but meantime the bird had flown, no doubt with feathers much ruffled by wounded pride.

Jack did not believe that Mollie had gone out of sight; he pictured her standing a few feet away, squeezed up against the branches of a tree, with blue skirts held tightly together lest a fold should betray her presence. Anxiety for his safety would soon bring her rushing to his side; so he threw himself back in the chair to set it a-going; failed to make it move, jolted forward, and again found it immovable. Then he grew suspicious, and craning over his shoulder beheld the tell-tale handkerchief with the tight little knots twisted purposely well out of reach.

So this was Mollie's revenge, to leave him stranded in the middle of the park until such time as it might please her to set him at liberty! Jack hardly knew whether to be more amused or indignant at the sense of his helplessness. It seemed so preposterous that a chit of a girl should be able to keep him prisoner, that for a moment he seriously contemplated getting out of the chair and limping back to the house. How contrite she would be when she returned to find the chair empty; how full of contrition, and anxiety about his welfare!

The prospect was not unpleasant; but after nearly a fortnight's invalidism, he dreaded doing anything to retard convalescence, and the more he measured with his eye the distance to the house the more convinced he became that it was beyond his power to accomplish. It would be ignominious, indeed, to have to give in half-way, and be discovered by his tormentor sitting prone upon the ground waiting her arrival.

Jack determined to be wise in his generation and remain where he was; but it was dull work sitting alone, without paper or book to while away the time, and as his chair was turned away from the drive he had not even the distraction of watching for the return of Ruth and Victor. He took out his pocket-book, searched through its contents for anything of interest, made a few calculations on an empty page, and thrust it impatiently into his pocket. Then he studied his strong white hands, trying to imagine that they looked thin and delicate, carried out a systematic search through every one of his pockets, lest, perchance, anything at all interesting might have wandered into one of them by mistake; looked at his watch and groaned to find that it was still a full half-hour to tea-time. At last when patience was well-nigh exhausted, the crunch of footsteps on the path delighted his ears, and he called out a vociferous greeting—

"Hallo! are you back? Thank goodness for that. I was just looking out for you."

No answer. The footsteps came to a momentary pause, then crunched on again quicker than before. Jack cleared his throat and roared still louder—

"I say, I'm here! Don't go without me; I'm alone; I want to go up to the house."

Silence still; another pause and then a deliberate walk onwards, which roused Jack to veritable anger. This was evidently not Ruth but Mollie, and Mollie must be taught that there was a point when a joke ceased to be a joke, and that, bound or free, Jack Melland must be obeyed. When he spoke again his voice was not loud any longer, but cuttingly cold and severe.

"Will you kindly come here and unloose my chair; I refuse to be kept a prisoner any longer."

The footsteps paused abruptly; the swish of a silken skirt came across the grass, and a woman's clear, high-bred voice cried abruptly—

"A prisoner! Oh, what is the matter? Please tell me what I can do. I would have stopped at once, but I did not think you could possibly be talking to me."

Jack looked up in amaze, and beheld a tall girl clad in grey, a little head beautifully poised on an unusually long neck, and a pale, oval face, out of which looked a pair of deep, violet eyes. The stranger was not beautiful, not even pretty, but in the way she spoke, in the way she moved, in the way she stood looking at him, with the folds of her dress held together in one slender hand, there was an air of distinction which marked her out from the ordinary run of womankind.

Jack felt overcome with embarrassment as he remembered his imperious summons, and so much at a loss to explain his predicament that for a few moments he could not find words, but just lay back in his chair staring at her with horrified eyes.

The stranger evidently perceived his embarrassment, for she came a step forwards and said tactfully—

"I think you must be Mr Melland. May I introduce myself? My name is Margot Blount I have been lunching at the vicarage, and took the opportunity of calling upon Miss Farrell before the carriage comes back for me at five o'clock. I shall be so glad if I can be of any service to you en route."

"Thank you; you are very kind. I am awfully sorry that I should have shouted at you in that threatening way," said Jack, smiling in his most fascinating manner, and he could be remarkably fascinating upon occasion. "The truth is I am a cripple at present with a sprained ankle, and my—er—attendant has chosen to run away, and leave me tied up to this tree. I was getting tired and impatient, hence the summons."

"Ah," exclaimed Lady Margot, smiling, "I can guess who the attendant was! Miss Mollie Farrell, was it not? I have heard so much of her from Mrs Thornton that I am quite longing to see her. Is she at home this afternoon—and her sister?"

"I am not sure about Miss Farrell; she went out for a walk after lunch; but in any case she is sure to return very soon. Miss Mollie is— somewhere! It is impossible to be more explicit. Probably some of the servants will be able to find her for you."

"I hope so, but first what can I do for you? Shall I untie this noose and set you free?"

"Thank you; I should be much obliged. Then, perhaps, you would kindly ask the butler to send someone to bring me in. I shall hope to see you later on."

Lady Margot rustled to the back of the chair, and bent over the knotted handkerchief. It was tied as if the knots were never intended to be undone, and presently she paused to take off her gloves before attacking it again, while Jack expostulated and apologised for the trouble he was giving. Finally, regardless of her light draperies, Lady Margot knelt down on the ground so as to work more conveniently, and in the midst of her efforts a saucy face peered suddenly round the corner of a tree a few yards distant, and Mollie hove into sight, with head thrown back and arms a-kimbo in would-be threatening attitude. From her position Jack's broad shoulders hid from view the grey figure behind the chair, and he guessed as much, and took a wicked delight in the thought.

"Well, Mr Melland, I hope you feel refreshed by your slumbers, and have awakened in a better frame of mind," cried Mollie loftily. "Will you say you are sorry, and be taken to have tea on the terrace, or be obstinate and stay here by your lonesome little self?"

"Neither, thank you; I have been fortunate enough to find a friend in need, so am no longer dependent on your good offices. Allow me to introduce you—Miss Mary Farrell—Lady Margot Blount!" said Jack dramatically.

Tableau!

Mollie's arms dropped to her sides and her face grew scarlet under the garden-hat. So far from rising to her position as hostess, it was the visitor who came forward to shake hands and speak the conventional words of greeting. It was, indeed, a cruel Fate which sent just this visitor at just this very time! Half a dozen times over during the last fortnight had Mollie donned one of her grand London dresses and sat primly in the drawing-room, with intent to receive Lady Margot in style, and impress her with a sense of her own dignity and importance! And then to be discovered behaving like a mischievous school-girl, and be taken at such a disadvantage that she could not even find her voice! It was too annoying!

"Good-afternoon, Miss Farrell! I was coming up to the house to call upon you and your sister. I am so happy to have found you at home; and, do you know, I believe Mr Melland will have to fall back upon your help, after all. My efforts have not been at all successful. You tie such good knots!" cried Lady Margot, in a tone of enthusiasm which seemed to imply that the tying of knots was one of the rarest and most valuable of accomplishments. Looking into her face, Mollie's embarrassment died a sudden death, and she found herself smiling back with a delicious sense of comradeship and understanding.

"Oh, I know the trick. I can undo them in a moment, and then won't you come and have tea with us on the terrace? It is all ready, and it seems a sin to be indoors on this lovely day. My sister will be there waiting for us; she was just coming up the path by the lake as I turned the corner."

"Oh, that is nice!" said Lady Margot. She looked as if she were about to ask another question, but checked herself, and strolled along beside the bath-chair, chatting alternately to Jack and Mollie with an ease and grace which might have come from long years' acquaintanceship. As they turned the corner of the terrace she was a step in advance, and Mollie saw her stop short for the fraction of a moment while the colour rushed into her pale cheeks. She had surprised a pretty little tableau—a tableau to which the inhabitants of the Court had grown accustomed during the last few days—Ruth seated on her chair, her lovely head drooped shyly forward, Victor leaning impressively towards her, his dark eyes bent on her face. They were too much engrossed to hear the approaching footsteps, but the sound of the chair crunching over the gravel at last aroused their attention, when Victor turned round, and leapt to his feet, white and breathless.



CHAPTER NINETEEN.

"THE OGRE."

It was not a successful tea-party; for the fact of Victor's previous acquaintance with Lady Margot, so far from acting as a bond of union, seemed to cast a constraint over all. The meeting between the two had been cool and unnatural. They persistently avoided speaking to or looking at each other, and it seemed to Mollie's critical ear as if even Lady Margot's voice had altered in tone since she had turned the corner of the terrace. She chatted away as easily as before, but the friendly manner was replaced by something colder and more formal. As she sat with veil turned back, the full rays of the sun shining upon her face, it became more obvious than ever that, in spite of chestnut hair and violet eyes, Lady Margot fell far short of beauty; but, none the less, the eye dwelt upon her in fascinated attention, so graceful was the pose of the small, stag-like head, so finely cut the curve of chin and cheek; while the smallest action, as of lifting a cup to her lips, became a veritable joy to behold.

She was the incarnation of grace, and, looking at her, Mollie became uncomfortably aware of roughened hair, sunburnt hands, and a dozen little deficiencies of toilette. Even Ruth suffered from the comparison, and, despite an obvious effort to sustain her role as hostess, there was a strained, unhappy expression upon her face which went to Mollie's heart.

It was a relief to all when Lady Margot rose to take leave; but when she offered her hand to Victor in his turn, he said eagerly—

"Mayn't I walk down with you to the vicarage? It is so long since we met! Please let me take you so far!"

"Oh, certainly, if you can spare the time!" replied Lady Margot with a careless indifference of manner which made her consent almost more blighting than a refusal.

Victor winced beneath it, but made no comment, and the two tall figures walked slowly down the terrace. Immediately they had disappeared, Jack summoned a servant to wheel him into the house, and the girls were left alone.

They sat silently for a long time, as true friends can do without offence, Ruth gazing ahead with grey eyes which saw nothing of the beauty of the scene; Mollie glancing from time to time at her troubled face, then turning quickly aside, lest her scrutiny might be observed and resented.

At length Ruth spoke, letting her figure drop back in her chair with a gesture of weariness—

"I wonder how it is that nothing is ever as nice as one expects? If we could have looked forward two months ago, and seen ourselves as we are now, we should have imagined ourselves the happiest creatures on earth; but I am not. Sometimes it seems quite perfect for a few moments, but something always happens to rub off the bloom. Uncle Bernard is cross, or Mrs Wolff stupid, or—or something else! I believe we are not meant to be happy in this world!"

Mollie looked up with a quick flush of dissent.

"Oh, I think that is such a grudging idea! I hate to hear people say it, and I can't think how they can, when they look round, and see how bright and beautiful everything has been made! If God had meant us to be dull and sad, would He have made all the flowers different colours, and every season different from the last, and the sunsets and the dawn, and the wonderful changing clouds? It is just a gorgeous feast to delight our eyes of colour; and all the animals are so cheerful, while they are young, at least—they skip and dance by instinct, so surely we must be meant to be happy too!"

"I don't know," Ruth objected slowly. "Animals have not souls and responsibilities, but we have, and that keeps us serious. The average man and woman is not happy, if you can judge by appearances. I remember reading about a man who walked about the streets of London all day long to see how many people he should meet with a smile on their faces. I forget how many there were—half a dozen, perhaps—terribly few!"

"Well, there would have been thousands, if people were half as grateful as they should be. Do you know, I sometimes think that what must grieve God more than almost anything else is that so many people refuse to be happy, in spite of all He can do, and go on forgetting their blessings, and making themselves miserable about little bits of silly worries and bothers day after day. Imagine if you had a child who was always grizzling, in spite of all your love and care! How would you feel?"

"But a child is a child. We may be meant to be serious."

"You can be serious without being glum. You can be happy without being thoughtless."

"Ah, Mollie dear," cried Ruth, turning to her sister and holding out her hand with a rush of tenderness—"ah, Mollie dear, happiness is a gift, which you possess and I do not! I am sad even on this lovely day, in this lovely place. It may be wrong, but I can't help it, yet I don't think I am ungrateful."

"You are happy enough as a rule; but you do 'sup sorrow with a spoon' when you get the chance, old dear! An hour ago, for instance, the sky seemed remarkably bright, and I could make a shrewd guess at the reason of this cloud; but, if I did, I expect you would snap off my head for my pains!"

"Yes, I should—I certainly should; so be careful what you say!" cried Ruth hastily. Then, as if eager to change the subject—"Here is James coming out with the afternoon letters. I hope there is one from home. It seems ages since we heard!"

"Trix! For me. How lovely! I'll read it aloud!" cried Mollie, tearing open the envelope, and unfolding several odd sheets torn out of an exercise-book and covered with large, untidy handwriting. Trix's characteristic epistles were always welcome, and this afternoon's specimen had arrived in the very nick of time to stop an embarrassing discussion, and cheer Ruth's drooping spirits.

Mollie lay back in her chair, and began reading in her clear fresh tones—

"Darling Moll,—While you are basking in the lap of luxury, this poor critter is snatching a few precious moments from 'prep' to answer your last epistle, and give what news there is. First and foremost, mother is as well as possible, and goes about with an 'open your mouth and shut your eyes, and in your mouth you'll find a prize' expression, which puzzles her friends into fits. Poor mum simply dies to tell them that one of her daughters will shortly become a millionaire! But she shuts her lips up tight, and looks more mysterious than ever, because, of course, there is a chance that it may not come off. Don't let me ever see your faces again if it doesn't, that's all!

"Fancy you having all those fine clothes! I can't imagine how you would look respectably attired. Kindly remember Beatrice Olivia for any cast-off fineries. Hair-ribbons especially desired. I've nothing left but an old Navy-blue, twisted up like a tape.

"We had a general intelligence examination at school this week. Stupid old things! One question was, 'What is the complementary colour to red?' I had never heard of a complementary colour in my life, and I was just racking my brains to think what to say, when my eyes happened to light on Miss Smith's carrots. 'Ah, ha,' thinks I, 'I have it!' So I put down 'auburn,' and was jolly well pleased with myself until lunch-time came, when I was telling Gladys my answers, and Miss Bateson heard me, and went into perfect fits! It seems complementary means something idiotic about two colours making a white light—as if they ever could! Anyway, I think my answer was very pretty and tactful—don't you? and I hope it will soften Smithy's hard heart.

"Another silly question was, 'Order a dinner for a class of twelve Board-school children, and state what quantities of each article are required.' One girl ordered a pound of roast beef and a pound of potatoes for each child, and ten and a half yards of Swiss-roll for the whole class! I ordered the 'scrag-end of the neck.' Haven't the least idea what it means, but I thought it sounded cheap. I likewise gave them suet dumplings for pudding. Hope they liked them!

"Is Mr Melland's ankle getting better? Have you had any more callers, invitations, rides, excursions, or excitements generally? Please answer my questions next time, and don't ignore them, as you generally do. Drummond had a fine adventure yesterday. Another small boy dared him to stick his head between our railings, and he did, but it wouldn't come out! He pushed, and the small boy pulled, and a crowd collected right across the pavement, making kind suggestions, and commenting on the size of his ears. Whenever he tried to get back, the railings caught them, and they stuck out like sails. Finally his pride gave way, and he howled, and a friendly policeman coming along, poked the rails apart with a stick, or did something or other, and out he came with a rush. He looked very crushed in every sense all the evening, so we hope it may be a lesson to him.

"The next-door girls have new hats—mustard straw, draped with green, and roses under the brim. It seems so sad to reflect that the poor dears probably imagine they look quite nice!

"How is the Ogre? Does he still live in his den, and growl when you appear? I should be very glad he did shut himself up, when he is so cross and disagreeable!

"Well, ta-ta, my darlings! I miss you at home, but I can't say I pine for your return, for it's quite pleasant to be Number One for a change, and boss Attica and the Muz. Take care of yourselves, behave prettily, and don't forget the hair-ribbons.—Your loving Trix."

"Wild child!" said Ruth, smiling. "She does write the most absurd letters! Better tear that up at once, Mollie, or burn it when you get into the house. You have such a trick of leaving things about, and it isn't safe. Uncle Bernard might—"

She started violently, and Mollie jumped to her feet as a harsh voice interrupted the sentence—

"Uncle Bernard has already had the pleasure of hearing the way in which a member of your family writes of him to a visitor in his own house. Ideas of loyalty seem to have altered since my young days, when it was considered a breach of decent feeling to eat a man's salt and speak slightingly of him behind his back!"

Ruth sat silent, crimson to the roots of her hair; Mollie shuffled miserably from one foot to another, but did not shrink from the old man's angry gaze.

"But how did you hear, Uncle Bernard? Have you been sitting behind this open window, listening to us all the while we have been talking? I don't think it is quite fair to do that."

"Don't you, indeed! I happened to be reading in my armchair, when you came and planted your chairs immediately outside. I was the first- comer, you observe, not yourselves, and I cannot say I was interested enough to listen to your conversation until my attention was attracted by the description of myself. I presume the very descriptive title was originally your invention?"

He planted his stick on the ground, and stared fixedly in Mollie's face. The grey eyes fell before his, and she answered hesitatingly—

"I'm—I'm afraid it was."

"And do you think it was good manners to write in such a way of your host?"

"No, I don't; I think it was hateful. But—"

"But?"

Mollie took a step forward, and laid a timid hand on his arm.

"But, in a sort of way, it is true. You shut yourself up, and you do growl, and even when you are kind, you pretend to be cross. We have tried and tried to be friends with you, but you won't let us. We have said over and over again that we felt as if we were living in an hotel, and it has been a trouble to us all. I don't wonder you feel angry; but don't you think you are a wee bit in the wrong yourself?"

Mr Farrell stared down at the eager face, the wide grey eyes, the little hand upon his arm, then deliberately drew himself away, saying coldly—

"You would make a good lawyer, my dear. You have a clever trick of evading an awkward question, and shifting the blame from your own shoulders. You will excuse me if I say that I can scarcely consent to discuss my own conduct with a girl of your years. The point I mentioned was your own conduct in writing disrespectfully of your host."

"I know, and I've said already that it was horrid; but it was not so horrid as you think. Trix is my sister, and we all have a habit of exaggerating and using stronger terms than we really mean. We have a habit of giving nicknames, too. They are not complimentary as a rule, but we don't mean to be unkind. If you read some of Trix's other letters, you would see that we have not been altogether ungrateful. Will you read them? I have them all upstairs, and could bring them down in a moment."

"You are very good. Judging from the specimen I have heard, I think I would rather decline the honour."

"Yes; but you ought not to decline! It isn't a question of enjoyment; it's a question of justice to Ruth and to me. You accuse us of being disloyal and ungrateful, so it's only fair you should hear our defence. I will bring down the letters, and you can read them at your leisure. They may bore you a little, but you will see that we are not so bad as you think, and that we have not always been uncomplimentary."

She walked hastily towards the house, leaving Ruth and the old man alone. He stood leaning on his stick, staring fixedly at her with his sunken eyes; but her head remained persistently drooped, the dark lashes lying on the flushed cheeks.

In the tension of that silence she could hear the beating of her own heart, and her ears strained nervously for the sound of returning footsteps. She had not long to wait. With a clatter, Mollie came scrambling out of the library window, the letters in her hand.

"There's our defence! Please read them before you scold us any more."

Mr Farrell took the letters, thrust them into his pocket, then stood silently, as if waiting for something more.

Mollie stared at him curiously, but he paid no attention to her; his gaze was fixed on Ruth's bent figure and downcast face. At length, surprised at the prolonged silence, she lifted her eyes with a frightened glance, and immediately Uncle Bernard broke into speech.

"Yes, I was waiting for you! Have you nothing to say on your own account?" he demanded sternly. "You seem content to sit silently and let your sister fight your battles. Is it because you are innocent of having offended in the same way yourself?"

Ruth's cheeks flushed to an even deeper rose.

"I," she stammered—"I—I'm sorry! I didn't mean—"

Mr Farrell turned to re-enter the house.

"Ah," he said coldly," so it was cowardice, after all! I understand. It is an interesting discovery!"



CHAPTER TWENTY.

RECEIVING AND PAYING CALLS.

Two days later Mr Farrell returned Trix's letters with a brief "Thank you!" which Mollie had enough tact to receive without remark. She was not conscious of having gained in the old man's graces, though Ruth was sadly conscious of having fallen from favour. Victor was evidently for the time being the persona grata, his remarks being received with attention, and his wishes carefully carried out.

Mollie confessed to herself that Victor's manners were perfect where his host was concerned, and wondered why it was that she found herself constantly suspecting his motives. What if he were playing a part to win the old man's favour? Was it not the unhappy feature of the situation that they were all, more or less, doing the same thing?

Meantime, callers arrived daily. Stout, middle-aged matrons, with pompous manners; thin matrons, precise and formal of speech; tall elegants, with flowing robes and Parisian millinery; sporting-looking women, with short skirts and motor-caps. One after another they drove up to the door and sat for a few moments in the drawing-room, going through the same stereotyped conversation: "How pleasant to have the Court opened once more! How do you like Raby? How delightful to have such delightful summer-like weather!" Then they drank a cup of tea, nibbled a piece of cake, and said: "Good-afternoon! So pleased to have met you! We shall hope to see you again very soon!"

Occasionally the matron brought a daughter in her train, and still more occasionally a shy, depressed-looking husband; but at the best of times the calls were not cheerful occasions, and Ruth and Mollie looked forward with little pleasure to paying their return visits.

"Though it must at least be more interesting than receiving at home, for we shall see other people's houses, and the way they arrange their drawing-rooms. I do love studying strange drawing-rooms!" said Ruth meditatively. "In country houses they ought to be charming—all chintzy and smelling of pot-pourri! All the same, Mollie, I'm disappointed in the neighbours. They aren't a bit thrilling, as we expected."

"People generally seem uninteresting at first. They may turn out to be perfect darlings, when we know them better. I dare say they drove away saying the same thing of us, for we behaved like a couple of marionettes, sitting dressed up in our best, saying, 'Yes, indeed!' 'No, indeed!' 'Very much, indeed!' 'Thank you so much!' as if we were wound up by machinery. We must really launch out, and say something a trifle more original!"

It was quite an exciting occasion when the girls set out on their first calling expedition. It was an ideal May afternoon, and the prospect of driving over the countryside in an open carriage, behind two prancing horses, was in itself a delight.

Victor was to make one of the party, but Jack refused contemptuously to accompany them if only for the drive, declaring that even a sprained ankle had its silver lining if it let him off so boring a function. He was sitting in the hall, waiting to cheer—or more strictly speaking, to jeer—the departure, when Ruth came downstairs buttoning her gloves, and, to her surprise, Mr Farrell was also present.

Both men looked up critically as she appeared, but neither glance was altogether approving. Her new dress looked too old and staid for so young a girl; moreover, her expression was fretful and worried. As she reached the spot where the two men were seated, Victor came into the hall from the doorway and looked round impatiently.

"Are you ready, Miss Ruth? The carriage has been waiting for some time now."

"Oh, I have been ready for ages! It's Mollie who is the laggard. She has been dressing ever since lunch, and is dressing still. I don't know when she will be finished."

Mr Farrell turned imperiously to the butler.

"Be kind enough to send a message to Miss Mary that I object to having the horses kept waiting. Three o'clock was the hour arranged, and it is already a quarter past. Ask how soon she will be ready!"

The man departed, and there was an uncomfortable silence for several minutes, broken at last by the banging of a door and the sound of racing footsteps. A white-and-blue vision came flying down the staircase, with filmy skirts floating behind, white feathers drooping over the golden hair, a cobweb parasol unfurled, and held triumphantly aloft.

"I'm sorry! It took such ages to fasten, and I had to take my hair down and do it up again to get the hat at the right angle. I wanted to fasten my gloves, to give you the whole effect, parasol and all. There!" Mollie strutted to and fro, turning her head from side to side like a sleek, self-satisfied pigeon. "How do you like it? Don't you think I look rather—nice?"

The two young men laughed aloud, and Mr Farrell said drily—

"Fine feathers make fine birds! I am glad to see that you have honoured my friends by wearing your fineries for their benefit. Ruth, I presume, prefers to keep hers for another occasion?"

Ruth dropped her eyelids and vouchsafed no reply. There was a little lump in her throat at that moment which would have made it difficult to speak in her usual voice. It was hard to have denied herself for naught, and less than naught, for Mollie's extravagance seemed more to the old man's taste than her own prudence. It was not the first time that the difference in their attire had been the subject of little edged remarks, which had made her bitterly regret the lost opportunity.

Seated in the carriage opposite Victor, she was still further depressed by the fear that he was also comparing her with Mollie, to her own disadvantage; but there was no hint of such a thought in his look or manner. The dark eyes met hers with sympathetic understanding. At every point he deferred to her opinion with a subtle flattery which was inexpressibly soothing to her wounded feelings.

The occupants of the first house on the list were not at home, so a sheaf of cards were left, and the carriage sped on another mile to Number 2, where the family were discovered superintending the arrangements of bedding-out plants round the front lawn. They greeted the visitors with easy cordiality, consulted them on the knotty question of geraniums versus begonias, escorted them round the gardens, and were vociferously reproachful when they refused to stay another half- hour to partake of tea.

As the carriage drove up the drive leading to the third house, a masculine figure was seen rushing to conceal itself behind the bushes, and the visitors had hard work to conceal their smiles when their hostess sent an urgent message to summon her husband from the grounds, and, on hearing that he could not be found, expressed her conviction that he would be woefully disappointed to have missed the pleasure of making their acquaintance.

"A fellow-feeling makes us wondrous kind! I don't feel a bit of a grudge against that fellow," Victor said laughingly, as they drove off once more. "With your permission, I am going to follow his example and make a bolt of it when we get back to the high-road. I shall enjoy the walk home, after being cramped up all afternoon. You will excuse me, won't you?"

"But we are going to the Moat. That's the next house on the list. Don't you want to see Lady Margot?" cried Mollie, outspoken as usual.

Both girls stared at him in amazement, but there was no sign of embarrassment on the handsome, smiling face.

"Very much, of course, but not enough to face another drawing-room catechism, accompanied by draughts of strong tea. There will be no escape this time, so you must be generous, and let me run for it, like poor Mr Granger! I have been very good and docile, but if you only knew how I am longing for freedom!"

There was no gainsaying such a request, nor, indeed, did either of the girls particularly wish to do so.

They made no objections, therefore, but, putting Victor down at the cross-roads, drove on their way in great good-humour.

The Moat was a picturesque old house, though by no means so imposing as the Court. The man-servant reported that Mrs Blount was not well enough to receive visitors, but that Lady Margot was at home and disengaged; and the visitors were shown into a pleasant, sunny apartment, where Margot herself was seated reading. She looked up apprehensively at the sound of the opening door; but at the sight of the two girls her expression changed, and she came forward to greet them with an eagerness which could not be mistaken.

"This is good of you to come so soon! And I am alone, so we can have a delightful chat all to ourselves. Bring tea, Wilson, please. Do come and sit down, and let me make you comfortable! My aunt is not downstairs to-day, and I was getting so bored with my own society that I am doubly pleased to see you! There are so few girls of my own age in this neighbourhood that I find it rather dull after the rush and bustle of town. It is so good of you to be here at the same time as me!"

"It is very nice for us," responded Mollie brightly; while truthful Ruth hesitated to find some reply which would be at once polite and non- committal. "But isn't it a strange time for you to come to this quiet place, when London is at its brightest and gayest?"

"Ah, thereby hang many tales!" cried Lady Margot, laughing. "The most important is, perhaps, that I am not strong enough to go through a season just now; but I have no intention of being dull even in Raby. We must amuse each other and do all kinds of nice things together. The great lack on my visits, so far, has been to find any other girls with whom I could be intimate; but now that you are here it will be quite different."

"But we are only country-cousins, Lady Margot. You will find that we are very ignorant of the things that have made up your life. We are very poor at home, and have had to do most of our gaieties in imagination," said Ruth; while Mollie gave a little gurgle of laughter, and cried—

"Let's tell her about Berengaria and Lucille!"

Lady Margot looked her curiosity, and, when the nature of the game was explained in detail in Mollie's breezy language, went into peals of delighted laughter, and rocked to and fro in her chair.

"How lovely—oh, how lovely! I do think it is too funny! I must call you Berengaria and Lucille. Do you mind? Such wonderful names! How did you manage to hit on them? I used to imagine, too; and what do you think was my dream? Instead of being a lonely only girl, I was a large family of grown-up sisters, and schoolboys coming home for the holidays, and little dots in the nursery—all in my own little self. You can't imagine how dull it is to be an only girl!"

"No," asserted Ruth doubtfully. "But rather nice to get all the petting and consideration! When you are the eldest of seven children, you are always expected to set an example, and it is very wearing at times. How delightful that you amused yourself 'pretending,' just as we did! That makes quite a bond of union between us!"

"Yes, indeed! But lucky creatures, your dream seems about to come true, while I am as lonely as ever. Your position at the Court is so romantic! You don't mind my speaking about it, do you, because everyone knows, and is so interested in the result? Of course, one of you must be the lucky heir; and then we shall be neighbours, and see each other constantly. Which is it to be—Berengaria, or Lucille?"

"Mollie!" said Ruth.

"Ruth!" said Mollie. "Don't believe her, Lady Margot. She is a wee bit out of favour the last few days, but I haven't a chance beside her. She has the Farrell eyebrows, you see, and the Farrell frown, and poise of the head. When she is sitting in the dining-room, you could tell at once that she was a descendant of the oil-paintings. I often see Uncle Bernard looking from her to them, and he is far more amiable to her than to any of us, as a rule. We all agree that she is far and away the chief favourite."

"Really! You discuss it among yourselves, and come to the same conclusions. How interesting!" said Lady Margot. "And the two men— your cousins—do they have no chance at all, poor things?" she asked lightly.

"They are not our cousins. They belong to different sides of the house, and we had never met till we came down here. Mr Melland refuses to be considered as a 'candidate,' and is staying only till his ankle is better. Mr Druce,"—Ruth hesitated uncertainly—"he is very nice to Uncle Bernard. They talk together a good deal. Sometimes I think his chance is very good."

"He is certainly second favourite, so far; but we have more than two months still before us. I intend to cut them both out long before then. May I have one of those dear little scones? I am quite hungry after my drive!" Mollie said, as she in turn was presented with a dainty Worcester cup.

She watched Lady Margot with intent eyes, as she flitted about the room, placing little tables beside her guests for their greater convenience.

"Such a plain dress, and almost no jewellery, and her hair so simply done; but she looks a Lucille through and through, as I should never do, however fine I might be!" she said admiringly to herself.

"We must think what we shall do to amuse ourselves, mustn't we? You have begun your round of dinners already, I hear; but in Raby they are apt to be a trifle too agricultural. All the men talk about their crops at this time of the year, and, as the prospects are generally bad, they get gloomier and gloomier as each course comes on. Mr Druce told me that Mr Early has paid you a visitation, so, if you take his conversation as a sample, you can judge of the combined effect. I don't ask what he talked about, because I know!"

"Yes," murmured Ruth vaguely, while her eye met Mollie's in an involuntary appeal. "Mr Druce told me!"—But Mr Early's call had taken place only three days before, nearly a week after Lady Margot's visit to the Court. "Mr Druce told me!" That meant that Margot had met Victor yesterday or the day before, and had talked with him some time, for the prosy Mr Early would not be an early subject of conversation. Victor often went out riding alone, and there was no reason in the world why he should not call on an old acquaintance. But why make a mystery of it, and avoid the call to-day by an obvious subterfuge? Ruth was very quiet for the rest of the visit, and Lady Margot glanced at her more than once as she chatted with Mollie. When tea was over she came out to the porch to watch their departure.

"Au revoir, Berengaria—au revoir, Lucille!" she cried gaily, as the carriage drove away; but as she turned from the door, the smile faded from her face, and was replaced by a very thoughtful expression.

"I see—I see it all! Poor pretty thing!" she said tenderly to herself. "I am sorry for her and for poor Margot, too! Which of us, I wonder, is the more to be pitied?"



CHAPTER TWENTY ONE.

PREPARING FOR THE GARDEN-PARTY.

Mrs Thornton took counsel with her husband as to the best form of hospitality she could show to the squire's visitors.

"I want to be one of the first to entertain them formally. It is a duty in our position," she explained. "The girls have been to tea several times, and that dear Mollie runs up to the nursery as naturally as if she were at home; but I think we ought to do more. The squire will expect it; and then the question is, dear—what can we do?"

"Just so." The vicar smiled, half amused, half quizzical. "The means at our disposal are distinctly limited. We can't ask them to dinner, because the staff is incapable of cooking and serving an extensive meal."

"And there are only three sherry-glasses left, and Mary broke the round glass dish last week—the one I always used for the trifle. And the dinner-service... We really must buy a new dinner-service, Stanford!"

"We really must, Agnes—some time! I think all the objections taken together put the dinner-party out of the question. Would not a somewhat more formal tea—"

"No." Mrs Thornton shook her head decidedly. "A formal tea is the most depressing function imaginable. If it was a little later on, I would suggest a hay-party. As it is, I am afraid it must be a garden- party, pure and simple."

The vicar laughed.

"Simple, it certainly would be. Our poor little lawn, one tennis-court, and the flower-garden a mass of weeds! We can't afford a band of minstrels, or even the ordinary ices and hothouse fruits. I am afraid it might be rather a failure, Agnes."

But Mrs Thornton refused to be discouraged.

"Nonsense, dear! People don't expect extravagant entertainments at a vicarage! The children and I can undertake the weeding, and when that is done the dear old herbaceous borders will look charming! The lawn is not big, but there is delightful shade beneath the beech-trees, and we can draw the piano up to the drawing-room window, and get a few people to sing for us—Maud Bailey and Mrs Reed; and I believe Mr Druce has a fine voice. I'll ask him to be very kind, and give us a song. As for refreshments, I can give good tea and coffee, and the best cream for miles around, and people can exist without ices for once in a way. Given a bright, fine day, I could manage beautifully!"

"I have no doubt you could. But why go through the ceremony of asking my advice, Mistress Thornton, when your mind has been made up from the beginning? Go your ways—go your ways! I wash my hands of all responsibility!" cried the vicar, laughing, as he walked back to his study, leaving his wife to sit down to her desk and make out a lengthy list of guests, which included everyone of note for miles round.

During the days to come Mr Thornton often sympathised with his wife on the amount of work she had undertaken in order to entertain the squire's guests; but, even to his unobservant eyes, it was apparent that, so far from being exhausted, she throve beneath it, and appeared brighter and younger than for years past. All work and no play has an even more depressing effect upon Jill than on Jack, and Mrs Thornton was by instinct a hospitable creature, who would have loved nothing better than a houseful of guests and a constant succession of entertainments. With small means, a large family, and a straggling parish, her time and energy were for the most part engrossed in sheer hard work, so that the prospect of a little "jollification," as she laughingly expressed it, came as a welcome variety.

The invitations to the Court were sent out first, to make sure of the most important guests, and down came the girls with notes of acceptance, and a hundred curious questions.

"Who is coming? What are you going to do? What dresses shall we wear? Can we help?" they asked eagerly; whereupon Mrs Thornton laughed, and replied hesitatingly—

"It is most incorrect; you ought to know nothing of the make-shifts, but just drive down to enjoy the completed effect; but, yes,—I cannot resist the pleasure of your company. Come, if you like, and I'll promise you some real hard work."

"That's right; and you'll find us so useful! We have been born and brought up on make-shifts, and can make anything out of nothing, and a box of tacks—can't we, Ruth?" cried Mollie, in the brutally outspoken manner which always brought a flush into her sister's face.

It was not so much foolish shame at the fact of poverty, but the stab of painful repugnance which came with the remembrance of the bareness and lack of beauty which characterised the old life. After a month's sojourn at the Court the day of small things seemed far away, and she shrank at the possibility of returning to it as a permanency.

When Mrs Thornton began to enumerate her difficulties, and escorted the girls from one room to another to ask their advice upon various knotty points, it was like the probing of a wound to Ruth's sensitive nerves. The house itself was roomy and well built, but in a hopeless state of disrepair. The paint was worn and dingy; the wallpapers so old- fashioned and discoloured that all Mrs Thornton's painstaking efforts after cheerfulness and beauty were foiled by the inartistic background.

"I shed tears over the drawing-room paper when I was first married," said Mrs Thornton, with a laugh and a shrug. "But, as one gets older, there are so many more serious things to cry over that one learns to be philosophical. I thought I might put some big, spreading branches in these old pots to cover the walls as much as possible, for we must have some rooms available in case of a shower. A wet day is too terrible a catastrophe to contemplate, so we won't even imagine it. Given sunshine and unlimited borrowing, we can struggle through. Think of it, my dears—I have invited over a hundred people, and we possess twelve teaspoons!"

Mollie gurgled with laughter in her hearty, infectious manner.

"I'd give up sugar for the day, and do without. That's one off the list. Shall we ask the butler to send down a supply? I'm sure he has hundreds stowed away in those great plate-chests."

"My dear, no! I should not think of it!" cried Mrs Thornton, aghast. "I can manage quite well without troubling the squire. Pray don't repeat any of my thoughtless remarks to him. My husband says that my tongue runs away with me far too often."

Ruth protested politely, but Mollie preserved an unusual silence for the rest of the visit. She was evidently thinking hard, and the result of her cogitations was, that when she returned to the Court she paid a surprise visit to Mr Farrell in his sanctum.

The old man was sitting reading in his favourite chair, and as he looked up it struck Mollie that he looked more alert than she had seen him since her arrival. The voice in which he answered her greeting was certainly less wearied and fretful than usual. He looked, if such a miracle could be believed, almost pleased to see her.

"Well,—so you have returned from your wanderings!"

"Yes, here I am, come to bother you again. There's a whole half-hour before you need begin to dress, and I've something very important to talk to you about."

"What does that mean, pray? More new dresses? I should have thought you could hardly have come to the end of the last supply by this time."

"Goodness, no! They will last for years. It is something far more important."

Mollie seated herself on a low chair directly opposite the old man, leant her elbows on her knees, her chin on her hands, and said hesitatingly—

"Uncle Bernard!"

"Mary!"

"Do you remember the first evening we were here, when you spoke to us about our visit? You said that you might possibly allow each of us in turn to act as master or mistress of the ceremonies for a short time?"

"I believe I did say something of the kind. It occurred to me that it might be an interesting experiment."

"And did you mean that we could really do what we liked, about money and everything else, just as if we were really and truly the real owner in your place?"

Mr Farrell smiled somewhat grimly.

"If your sister asked me that question, I should say 'Yes.' Knowing as I do your capacity for extravagance, I am a little more cautious. Within reasonable limits that is, however, what I meant to imply."

"Ah!" sighed Mollie deeply. "But it all depends on what you call reasonable. At any rate, you can only refuse, and things can be no worse than they are at present. Please, Uncle Bernard, may I begin my reign from to-day?"

"Your reign! You put it forcibly, my dear—more so than is perhaps quite pleasant in my ears. And you are the youngest of the four; your turn should come last, not first. When the others have had their trial—"

"But they have never asked for it; they don't want it, and I do; and you said nothing about taking turns when you made the suggestion. If you let me begin, they could take warning from my mistakes. I don't think you would find they disliked the arrangement. Do, please, be kind and say 'Yes.'"

Mr Farrell reflected for a moment, bringing the tips of his fingers together.

"As you say, you are the first to express any desire to take me at my word. If it pleases you to assume the reins of government for a short time, I have no objection."

"You mean it really? I can begin at once, and give what orders I like?"

"Subject, as I have said, to some possible restrictions if your enthusiasm carries you too far. There is evidently some big scheme looming behind this request. You had better let me know the worst at once. What is to be your first extravagance?"

Mollie's head still rested in the cup of her hands. She looked at him steadily, with a little flame of determination in her grey eyes.

"I am going to have the vicarage painted and papered from top to bottom. It's disgracefully shabby! The paper is hanging off the walls in some places, and where it isn't, it would be almost better if it were, it is so ugly and worn. It is too bad to expect Mr and Mrs Thornton to do all the hard, depressing work of the parish and keep bright and cheerful themselves, when their home is enough to give the blues to a clown! It looks as if it hadn't been touched for a century!"

Mr Farrell lowered his eyelids and sat in a grim silence, while the clock ticked a full two minutes. Mollie, watching his face, saw the thin lips grow thinner and thinner, as they were pressed the more firmly together; the horizontal lines in his forehead deepened into furrows. There was no mistaking the fact that he was displeased, and deeply displeased, even before the cold eyes met hers once more.

"I had no intention now, or at any other time, of allowing you to assume control over the whole parish! My proposition referred simply to this house and your own entertainment. I am still capable of looking after my own property."

"But—" began Mollie, and stopped short.

Even her courage failed before the obvious retort that the property was not looked after, but allowed to fall into dilapidation; but Mr Farrell understood without the need of words, and his eyes flashed with anger.

"You must permit me to judge for myself! When my day is over, whoever comes into possession can squander my money as he or she sees fit, but I cannot hurry the time forward, however much you may desire it. You must be patient and wait. It may come sooner than you think."

Mollie sprang to her feet with an exclamation of mingled pain and anger.

"Oh, Uncle Bernard, how cruel! How can you say anything so horrid and unjust! It isn't true, and you know it isn't true, and I don't deserve it! I only asked for what you yourself suggested."

"I never suggested that you should interfere with my property, and criticise what I had chosen to do or left undone. As for not deserving reproach, you must have made very sure of stepping into my shoes since you wish to wear them while I am still here. No doubt I appear to you a mere cumberer of the ground; but it is my ground, I would have you remember. You cannot take liberties with it yet awhile."

"I don't want it! I never want it! I'll go home to-morrow! You have no right to taunt me like this!" cried Mollie, trembling with such a storm of indignation and wounded feeling as she had rarely known in her bright, easy-going existence.

A rush of ugly words came to her lips, and struggled for utterance, while Mr Farrell sank back in his chair, and lay crouched against the cushions, one thin hand pressed heavily over his heart. The look, the action, brought Mollie to herself with a stab of recollection.

Whatever he had said to wound her pride, she had no right to forget his weakness, his danger, his lonely, piteous age. Anger died a rapid death, and gave place to an even keener sympathy. When Mr Farrell looked up again, it was to find the grey eyes wet with tears, and the lips trembling with emotion.

"Oh, you poor old man—you poor old man! Why will you make it so difficult? Why won't you let us love you and be a comfort, instead of a trouble? We would, if you would allow us. We want to, but you keep us at arm's length, and scold and sneer. I am not thinking of myself. I am young and strong, and I have my home and my dear little mother. I shall be happy, whatever happens. It's you I am sorry for! I hate to see you ill and lonely. You have given a great deal to me; can't you be generous enough to take something in return? There are only two months left. The time is nearly half over. Can't we be friends—real friends—until the end?"

She drew nearer as she spoke, and saw no rebuff in the watching face, until at last she sank on her knees before him, and timidly touched his hand.

"Uncle Bernard, speak! Say something to me!"

Still the old man hesitated; but his hand lay quietly in hers, and did not try to escape.

"What can I say?" he asked slowly at last. "I believe you are a good child; I believe you are honest; but my days are past for making friendships. I have felt deeply in my time, but the power of loving died away with everything else which made life worth living. I cannot promise what is impossible."

"But you can at least give me a chance of loving you. I won't ask any more favours if you will just talk to me a little sometimes, without sneering at me, and let me walk with you about the grounds and be a little bit of a companion. Will you? You might get to like me a little bit in time, and it would not be quite so lonely."

"I can imagine things less impossible. You are a good child; but remember, Mollie, my liking or not liking has nothing to do with my choice of an heir. The condition to which I referred might easily apply to one who appealed to me in no other way. It is only right to warn you."

But the listener took no heed of the warning. Her face was one radiant beam of delight.

"You called me 'Mollie'!" she cried. "It was the very first time! That really does sound as if we were going to be friends?"



CHAPTER TWENTY TWO.

MR. FARRELL MAKES HIS WILL.

It was not in human nature—not in Mollie's nature, at least—to resist "showing off" a little after that momentous interview, and her sudden familiarity with their host filled her companions with amazed curiosity. Ruth had naturally heard all that had passed, and loyally stifled the dawning of envy, but the young men were at a loss to account for what seemed to them a mysterious change of favourites.

"Miss Mollie is outstripping us all! She has stepped into the position of first favourite this last fortnight," Victor Druce said, as the four young people sat on the terrace steps waiting for tea, a few days after the visit to the vicarage.

He laughed as he spoke, but in a half-hearted manner, and tugged heavily at the ends of his moustache, while he scrutinised Mollie's face through half-closed lids. She beamed at him gaily in response, scorning mock- modest protestations.

"Oh yes; we understand each other ever so much better! I have been impressing upon him ever since our first meeting that I am really very nice, and at last he is beginning to realise it for himself. He likes me very much. He told me so with his very own lips; but he told me something else, too."

"Yes! May we inquire—"

"Oh, certainly! It is quite as interesting to you as to me. Liking has nothing whatever to do with the mysterious condition; he may quite probably choose the one of us he cares for least, as his heir. 'Curiouser and curiouser,' as Alice said; isn't it?"

"Humph! There may be a chance for me, after all," said Jack lightly.

Victor knitted his brows, and tugged once more at his moustache.

"He said so definitely—you are sure you are not mistaken? Then how can one possibly judge? That upsets all our theories at a blow."

"That's what I thought myself. I felt sure that it would be Ruth, but now I am all at sea; but, for my own part, I'm glad. It is easier to be good friends when there is nothing mercenary involved."

Mollie smiled her sunny, candid smile, and lay back in her deck-chair, her hands clasped easily behind her head. It was delightful to laze in the sunshine, to feel at peace with all the world. The present was so all-absorbing that she had no time to worry her head about the future; but Ruth sat by her side, with unseeing eyes bent upon her book, while the swift thoughts surged through her brain.

She also had felt inwardly convinced that Uncle Bernard's choice would fall upon herself, who was so truly a daughter of his race, and it had been a shock to learn that there was nothing to be deduced from his signs of preference; but of late days there was another problem which was becoming of even more vital interest than the heirship of the Court.

Even as she sat there, with averted head, she was acutely conscious of Victor's presence. She seemed to know, without looking in his direction, the absorbed, contented expression of the dark face. She knew it so well by this time—knew it in an aspect which no one saw but herself; for when they were alone together, it was as if a mask fell away, and revealed the true man. Then he looked at her with open admiration, spoke unreservedly of himself, and drew her out to tell of her own life, and hopes, and ambitions. And there were even more thrilling moments, when the talk ceased, and they sat side by side, silent, yet absorbed, acutely conscious of each other's presence; delightfully, inexplicably confused.

At such moments Ruth confessed to herself that this man, whose very existence she had been unaware of a few weeks before, was fast becoming to her the most important person in the world, and it seemed as certain that he reciprocated her feelings. At such moments, yes! but certainty died away into uneasy doubt, as upon the approach of a third person— even the insignificant Mrs Wolff herself—Victor fell back into his carefully conventional manner.

It was not that she expected or desired any demonstration in public. Ruth was by nature far too reserved to welcome such an exhibition; but the two attitudes were so widely divided, Victor's care in keeping them apart so sedulous, that she could not but be perturbed. Ruth's heart had never before been touched; but love needs no apprenticeship, and she felt by instinct that such self-control was unnatural. Surely, surely, if he really "cared," there would be moments when his eyes would involuntarily meet hers, when his voice would soften in tone.

Then there was Lady Margot Blount! What was the real history of that acquaintanceship? Why did Victor affect to avoid her, while really meeting her in secret?

While Ruth sat dreaming, tea was brought out, and Mr Farrell came limping down the terrace to join the party. It was not often that he favoured them with his presence at the afternoon meal, but the day was so fine and sunny that it was really warmer out of doors than in the house, and as he sat he spread out his wrinkled hands, evidently enjoying the newly-found heat.

Ruth waited upon him with a pretty deference, while Mollie chattered on in her usual unabashed fashion. The old man appeared to pay no attention, but he evidently listened more closely than he cared to admit, for a casual mention of Margot Blount's name evoked a quick glance and question—

"You all seem to speak of Lady Margot in a very familiar fashion; I have not the pleasure of her acquaintance, but from all I have heard I should not imagine she was inclined to make friendships lightly. You have met her—how often? Once or twice?"

He looked at Mollie as he spoke, but Mollie deliberately avoided his eyes, turning towards Victor in a marked manner, which left him no choice but to reply. It was a mischievous impulse to avenge herself and Ruth for his desertion of a few days before, and to discover the truth about that secret meeting of which Margot herself had spoken. Her face seemed solemnity itself to the casual observer, but as he looked at her Jack choked suddenly over his tea, and hitched his chair in an opposite direction. He would have laughed outright if he had looked one moment longer. As for Victor, his dark eyes shot out a spark of annoyance, just one; then he answered with smiling unconcern—

"Lady Margot and I are not quite strangers, sir; I met her in town a good deal last year. We have some friends in common. It was only renewing an acquaintance when we met again the other day."

"Indeed—indeed!" Mr Farrell looked unusually interested and alert. "I am glad to hear that. The Blounts are some of the most important people in the neighbourhood. In the old days there was a strong friendship between the two families, which I should be pleased to see renewed. You were introduced to the old people when you called at the Moat, I presume?"

Here was a direct question which could not be avoided. Jack and Mollie turned towards Victor with glances of elaborately veiled curiosity. Ruth clattered the tea-cups together, carefully averting her eyes. Anxious as she was to hear the reply, she hated the knowledge that Victor was being placed in an awkward position,—hated the consciousness that the others were enjoying the embarrassment.

The pause lasted but a moment; then Victor spoke in his most casual tones—

"No; I have not seen them yet. I have run across Lady Margot once or twice in my morning rides, and had the opportunity of a talk with her, so I thought it better to defer a more formal call. Miss Farrell was kind enough to leave my card, but I did not wish to put myself too much en evidence!"

Mr Farrell frowned.

"You had better go soon, then—the sooner the better. As you know the niece, there is all the more reason for paying due respect to the uncle and aunt. You will no doubt receive an invitation after this exchange of visits, and it must be returned as soon as possible. I knew the girl's father in his youth. He was a fine fellow. If she is like him, she must be worth knowing. She cannot be very young,—nearer thirty than twenty, I should say. It is a wonder that she is not married, or engaged. Is she engaged, do you happen to know?"

Again the others waited, leaving Victor to reply, and for the first time a faint flush showed itself on his cheek.

"I believe not. There was no talk of it last autumn. I have heard no rumours—"

"I am surprised at that. It is a poor family, and she will have little or no money; but the name and position ought to count for something. They would be almost more valuable than money to a young man beginning life."

"I am thankful that I have no name or position! I should like my husband to value me for myself, not for what I possessed!" cried Mollie quickly.

It gave her an uncomfortable feeling, amounting almost to an augury of ill, to hear Uncle Bernard talking of Margot Blount with such unusual interest. The first definite wish which he had expressed was in connection with her name; his last remarks virtually sanctioned with his approval any aspirations which Victor might secretly treasure. Lady Margot Blount could hardly be expected to marry a struggling barrister; but if that barrister were the possible heir of the Court, his importance became at once largely increased.

Victor was unfailing in his efforts to please his host, and the result of this conversation would inevitably be a closer intimacy with the Blount family, which, even if it led to nothing more serious, would of a certainty cloud Ruth's happiness. Mollie was by no means sure that she approved of Victor as a suitor for her beloved sister, but, with delightful inconsistency, she hated the idea of his daring to care for anyone else, and the thought lent an unwonted edge to her voice—

"It's horrid to talk about marriage in that mercenary fashion, as if it were a pure business arrangement. When I hear such remarks, I'm thankful that I haven't a penny piece in the world!"

"If that is your feeling, you would be in a most unfortunate position as the owner of the Court. It would be a pity to disturb your equanimity, my dear."

Mr Farrell stretched out his thin hands on his knees, looking at her with quizzical eyes, whereupon Mollie forgot her anger, and gave one of her gay, infectious laughs, nodding her head towards him in mischievous, new-found familiarity.

"Ah, you had me there! But I might be like Queen Bess, you know, and prize my kingdom above any man; or, if one came along whom I really wanted to marry, I'd send him to slay dragons and carry off golden apples, to prove his devotion and disinterestedness. Don't cut me off through any mistaken scruples, Uncle Bernard. I'd really make a delightful chatelaine, and I should enjoy it so! No one appreciates the real object of money more than I do!"

"And what is your idea of the 'real value,' if one may ask?"

"To spend, of course!" she answered audaciously. "It is the only thing to do, for if you keep it, it's just a dull collection of coins. I love spending! Now, if I became a big heiress to-morrow, would you like to know what I should do?"

"Extremely; it would be most interesting!" said Mr Farrell.

"Yes, Miss Mollie, do tell us!" urged Victor.

Jack looked up with a puckered brow, half amused, half anxious, and Ruth murmured a gentle "Mollie dear!" Mollie was not to be deterred by encouragement or warning. She lay back in her chair, tapping off each item on her fingers as she spoke, her face one beam of mischievous enjoyment.

"I'd settle annuities on all my relations and friends. I'd buy the most exquisite presents, and send them round to everyone who had been kind to me in my poor estate. I'd give huge donations to governess's Homes, and funds for poor gentlewomen, and send them flowers, and fruit, and game. I'd go to Liberty's, and buy artistic furniture, and hire experts to superintend decorations, and, while the house was being put in order, I'd go a voyage round the world, and buy stacks of lovely things at every port, and see all the sights, and come home laden with spoils! Then I'd settle down, and,"—she chuckled complacently—"I would have a good time! I'd have every single thing I wanted, and never think of what it cost!"

"Until the bailiffs arrived; which would be surprisingly soon, I should imagine!" said Uncle Bernard drily. "You have not much idea of the responsibility of wealth, my dear. I prefer not to discuss the point, however. My own views, which are peculiar, are set forth in the Will which is lying in the desk in my room."

The four young people looked up sharply. The same question was on the lips of each; but it was Victor's eagerness which first found words—

"The Will?—Now! But surely—?"

Mr Farrell's lips twisted into a grim smile, as if he had of deliberate purpose provoked their curiosity.

"You are surprised that I have already come to a conclusion. It is by no means unchangeable; but, in the extremely precarious condition of my health, I do not think it safe to delay matters indefinitely. This Will was drawn up last week, and is based upon my impressions up to the present time. If I live it is extremely likely that I may alter my mind once and again; but it should be a comfort to you all to feel that, at the worst, I am not unprepared."

He looked from one to the other with the same faint, mocking smile, his gaze lingering on Ruth's troubled face. Her eyes expressed a questioning so intense as to be almost wild; then slowly they fell before his, and a crimson tide rushed over her cheeks.



CHAPTER TWENTY THREE.

HARD AT WORK.

Preparations for Mrs Thornton's garden-party went on uninterruptedly during the next week, and grew in fervour as the great day approached. Everybody had accepted, as the hostess announced with a groan and a laugh; and the vicar threatened to be called abroad on urgent business, so alarmed was he at the prospect of the fashionable throng which was to invade his shabby precincts. When, however, Mrs Thornton made up her mind to carry out a plan, she was not easily damped; and aided by Mollie and the younger members of her brood, she weeded, and forked, and clipped at the over-grown garden, until it really began to assume quite a presentable appearance.

"I daren't weed," Mollie explained, "for I'm a poor town thing, who would probably pull up your most cherished seedlings; but my arms are so strong that I can mow with the best, so I'll take the grass in hand, if someone else will trim the borders."

"But your face, my dear—your face!" cried Mrs Thornton, staring with dismay at the crimsoned countenance beneath the straw hat. "I'm ashamed to let you work so hard! What would your uncle say if he saw you now?"

"Something uncomplimentary, no doubt. I know I am magenta, but fortunately it isn't lasting. I asked Mr Druce if he would help me this morning, and do a little rolling into the bargain, but he would not give up his ride."

Mrs Thornton pursed up her lips, stared first at the ground, then at the sky, then across into Mollie's face.

"He is very fond of riding!" she said mysteriously. "I see him pass every morning, going in the same direction, and always alone. How is it that none of you ever go with him?"

"Jack Melland is still lame, and Ruth and I are only beginners. We have little canters together in the afternoons sometimes, but in the mornings he prefers to be free to go longer distances. He goes ever so far— miles and miles. One morning last week he met Lady Margot Blount somewhere near the Moat."

"And one morning this week also, for my husband saw them together, and if I were inclined to gossip, I should say it was oftener than once. My dear Mollie, how charming! Are we going to have a love-story to enliven the summer? Nobody ever gets engaged or married in this sleepy place, and this would be truly exciting! But I thought at one time—excuse my saying so, won't you, dear?—I quite thought he admired your sister, and that there might be a match there!"

"Of course, he admired her—no one could help it; but please never hint at anything of the sort to Ruth. She is very reserved, and would hate to be talked about!" cried Mollie hastily.

Across the lawn Ruth's graceful figure could be seen kneeling in front of a bed of flowers which she was fastening to supporting sticks in her usual neat, methodical fashion. No one could have recognised that bed as the same confused broken-down mass of blossom which it had been an hour earlier.

"There! now they do look as if someone loved them," said Ruth to herself, straightening her weary back, and brushing the soil off her fingers.

After the Thorntons' more casual work was over, she had made a careful round of the beds, giving those dainty finishing touches which add so largely to the effect. Now her work was finished, and, seeing Mrs Thornton and Mollie standing together, she rose stiffly, and walked across the lawn to meet them.

"Have you finished? I think I have really come to the end of the beds, and everything looks delightfully 'cared for'! I shall bring my camera down on Thursday, Mrs Thornton, and take some snapshots of your guests in pretty corners of the garden. Did you know I had taken the photographic fever? I bought myself a really, really nice camera, and I want to take mother a collection of views of the Court when we go home. She will value it more than anything else, for I shall snap all her favourite bits in the grounds, and take the interiors with time- exposures. They will be nice to look at when we are away, and someone else reigns in our stead!"

She shrugged her shoulders as she spoke, and Mrs Thornton patted her arm with kindly encouragement.

"Nonsense—nonsense! You are tired, dear, and that makes you look at things through blue spectacles. Come into the house, and we will have tea, and discuss the great question of where my guests are to sit, if anything so dreadful as a shower should happen! Two armchairs, you see, half a dozen small ones, more or less unstable (if anyone over seven stone attempts the green plush there'll be a catastrophe!), and one sofa. Now, put your inventive brains together, and tell me what I can do. There is plenty of room for more furniture, but no money to buy it, alas!"

"Let them sit on the floor in rows; it would be ever so sociable!" said naughty Mollie.

Ruth knitted her brows thoughtfully.

"Have you any chair-beds? We could make quite elegant lounges of them, pushed up against the wall, covered with rugs and banked up with cushions; or even out of two boards propped up at the sides, if the worst came to the worst!"

"Oh-oh! Chair-beds! What an inspiration! I have two stored away in the attic. They are old and decrepit, but that doesn't matter a bit. They will look quite luxurious when the mattresses are covered with sofa-blankets; but I don't know where the cushions are to come from. I only possess these three, and they must stay where they are to hide the patches in the chintz. I might perhaps borrow—"

"No, don't do anything of the kind. Use your pillows, and Ruth and I will make frilled covers out of art-muslin, at threepence a yard. They will look charming, and lighten up the dark corners. We are used to that sort of work at home. We made a cosy corner for the drawing-room out of old packing-cases and a Liberty curtain, and it is easier and more comfortable than any professional one I ever saw. The silly upholsterers always make the seats too high and narrow. We made a music ottoman of the inside, and broke our backs lining it, and our nails hammering in the tacks; but, dear me, how we did enjoy it, and how proud we were when it was accomplished for seventeen-and-six!

"I'm beginning to doubt," repeated Mollie solemnly, "whether it is half so amusing to be rich as it is to be poor. When you can get everything you want the moment you want it, you don't appreciate it half so much as when you have pined for it, and saved up your pennies for it, for months beforehand. When we get a new thing at home, the whole family pay visits to it like a shrine, and we open the door and go into the room where it is, one after the other, to study the effect, and gloat over it. It is fun; isn't it, now? Confess that it is!"

"Ye-es," agreed Mrs Thornton doubtfully. "But where you have to wait too long, the sense of humour gets a little bit blunted, especially as one grows older, Mollie dear!"

She sighed as she spoke, and her eyes roved pensively round the discoloured walls, those same walls whose condition had fired Mollie to make her unsuccessful appeal. The girl's thoughts went back to that embarrassing interview, not altogether regretfully, since it had ended in bringing about a better understanding between her uncle and herself. Perhaps, though he had refused her request, it would linger in his mind, and lead to good results. Nothing but the unexpected was certain about Uncle Bernard.

The next afternoon the vicarage drawing-room presented a rather chaotic appearance, as Mrs Thornton and her assistants prepared the important couches. Ruth sat in the middle of the floor running up lengths of brightly coloured muslins on a sewing-machine, while the other two wrestled with the difficulties which attend all make-shifts. With the greatest regard for ease and luxury, the beds were pronounced decidedly too low to look genuine, and the rickety legs had to be propped up with foundations manufactured out of old bound volumes of magazines, bricks from the garden, and an odd weight or two from the kitchen scales. The sofa-blankets also turned out to be too narrow, and persisted in disclosing the iron legs, until, in desperation, one end was sewn to the mattress, allowing the full width to hang down in front.

At last the work was finished, and the hot and dishevelled workers retired to the hall, and, re-entering the room to study the effect, in true Farrell manner, pronounced the "divans" to look professional beyond all fear of detection.

The next achievement was to place a tapering bank of plants against a discoloured patch of wallpaper, and many and varied were the struggles before the necessary stand was arranged. Eventually an old desk formed the bottom tier, a stool the second, and the baby's high chair the third and last. Draped with an old piece of green baize, with small pots of trailing Tradescantia fitted into the crossbars of the chair, and the good old family Aspidistras ("as old as Mabel!" explained Mrs Thornton, stroking one of the long green leaves affectionately) taking the place of honour, the effect was so superior and luxurious that the vicar had to be dragged from his study to exclaim and admire.

"There, just look at our divans! Did you ever see anything look more luxurious? Who could ever suspect they were only a make-up? Sit down and see how comfortable this is!" cried Mrs Thornton volubly; whereupon the vicar sat down heavily in the centre of the seat, and promptly descended to the floor amidst a heaped-up pile of bedding, pillows, Sunday at Homes, and broken bricks.

He gasped and groped wildly with his hands, and the sight of him sitting prone among the ruins was so comical that both girls went off into peals of laughter. The humorous side of the accident was not, however, quite so apparent to the mistress of the ceremonies.

"That tiresome, tiresome bed! I might have known as much! It used to collapse with me regularly when I was nursing Mabel with scarlet-fever!" she cried impatiently. "Now we shall have to begin from the beginning, and make it up again. How tiresome of you, Arthur, to be so heavy!"

"I will spare you the obvious retort, dear. Let us be thankful that I was the victim, and not Lady Elstree, whom you would certainly have escorted to the seat of honour to-morrow. If you will allow me to help, I think I could manage to make things fast."

At this critical moment a loud rat-tat sounded at the door, and Mrs Thornton rushed to peep out of the window.

"Horrors, a visitor! Mary will show her into the room, I know she will! That girl has no more sense than a doll! Ruth—Mollie—Wallace! pick up the things on the floor; throw them behind the sofa! Pull the sewing-machine to the wall! There's no room for anyone to tread! Of all the tiresome, aggravating—"

"Nonsense, dear—nonsense!" cried the vicar, laughing. "Leave things as they are. You have quite sufficient excuse in the fact of expecting a hundred people to-morrow. There will be no room to tread then, if you like!"

He turned towards the door as he spoke, and Mrs Thornton hastily smoothed her hair as it opened wide, and Mary's eager voice announced—

"If you please, mum, a 'amper!"

"A what?"

The vicar and his wife pressed forward eagerly, and, lo! on the well- worn oilcloth of the passage lay a large wicker hamper, addressed to "Mrs Thornton, The Vicarage, Raby," and bearing on the label the name of a well-known London fruiterer. To cut the string and tear it open was the work of a moment, when inside was revealed such treasures of hothouse fruits as left the beholders dumb and gasping with admiration.

There in profusion were grapes, peaches, giant strawberries of the deepest red, pineapples,—each one more perfect and tempting than the last, in their dainty, padded cases.

The vicar stood looking on, stroking his chin, and smiling with enjoyment at his wife's delight, as she bent over her treasures, exclaiming and rapturising like a girl in her teens.

"How lovely! How charming! How delightful! My fruit-table will be a triumph! This is exactly what I needed to give the finishing touch to my preparations! I've never seen finer fruit—never! Wallace, Wallace, won't we be grand?"

"So grand that I am afraid the churchwardens will have serious doubts as to the school funds," said the vicar, laughing. "I have twenty pounds in hand at the present moment, and really—"

"Oh, don't be a goose! Of course, everyone will guess that it is a present. I shall say so myself on every opportunity. But who from? Who can have thought of such a thing?" Her eyes turned with sudden questioning to the two girls. "Ruth, Mollie—did you?"

"Indeed, no! I didn't think of it, I am sorry to say!" said Ruth; and added honestly, "I am too hard up to pay for all those lovely things!"

"And you know nothing about it, really?"

"Really and truly, not a thing!"

"You don't think that perhaps the squire—"

Mollie recalled the snubbing which she had received on suggesting the improvements to the vicarage, coupled with the various cynical remarks to which Mr Farrell had given utterance on the subject of this very garden-party, and felt convinced that he was not the anonymous donor; but these things were not to be repeated, so she remained silent, while Ruth and Mrs Thornton wondered and speculated.

No one could be thought of more likely than the squire, for the parishioners, as a rule, were not overburdened with money, nor the few who were, with generosity.

"I have never had such a thing done for me all the years I have been here—never once!" cried Mrs Thornton, waxing almost tearful in her excess of gratitude. "And to send it anonymously, too—so modest and unassuming! The dear, kind, thoughtful creature. I shall never rest until I know who it is?"



CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR.

THE DAY OF THE PARTY.

The morning of the garden-party was bright, almost perilously bright even for June; but there was exhilaration in the sight of the blue sky, dappled with fleecy white clouds, which formed such an exquisite contrast to the velvety green of the landscape, and a delicious sense of luxury in strolling about in the sun, and feeling rid at last of the treacherous wind.

The squire's guests breakfasted upon the terrace, to the mild disapproval of Mrs Wolff, who could not understand why people could not be content to remain comfortably indoors, instead of picknicking in gipsy-like fashion on every possible occasion. Her small, pinched face expressed the annoyance which she had not the courage to put into words, and as soon as her duties were over she hurried back to the shelter of the house. Immediately she had disappeared Jack boldly demanded another cup of coffee, and set to work on toast and marmalade with a fresh access of appetite.