at Westhaven, beyond the town and harbour, stood a row of
houses, each with a garden of tamarisk, thrift, and salt-loving flowers,
frequented by lodgers in search of cheap sea breezes, and sometimes by
families of yachting personages who liked to have their headquarters on
shore.

Two girls were making their way to one of these. One was so tall though
very slight, that in spite of the dark hair streaming in the wind, she
looked more than her fifteen years, and her brilliant pink-and-white
complexioned face confirmed the impression. Her sister, keeping as much
as she could under her lee, was about twelve years old, much more
childish as well as softer, smaller, with lighter colouring and blue
eyes. Going round the end of the house, they entered by the back door,
and turning into a little parlour, they threw off their hats and gloves.
The younger one began to lay the table for dinner, while the elder,
throwing herself down panting, called out--

'Ma, here's a letter from uncle. I'll open it. I hope he's not crusty
about that horrid low millinery business.'

'Yes, do,' called back a voice across the tiled passage. 'I've had no
time. This girl has put me about so with Mrs. Leeson's luncheon that
I've not had a moment. Of all the sluts I've ever been plagued with,
she's the very worst, and so I tell her till I'm ready to drop. What is
it then, Ida?' as an inarticulate noise was heard.

[Picture: Frontispiece--Ma! ma!]

'Ma! ma! uncle is a lord!' came back in a gasp.

'What?'

'Uncle's a lord! Oh!'

'Your uncle! That stick of a man! Don't be putting your jokes on me,
when I'm worrited to death!' exclaimed Mrs. Morton, in fretful tones.

'No joke. It's true--Lord Northmoor.' And this brought Mrs. Morton out
of the kitchen in her apron and bib, with a knife in one hand and a bunch
of parsley in the other. She was a handsome woman, in the same style as
Ida, but her complexion had grown harder than accorded with the slightly
sentimental air she assumed when she had time to pity herself.

'It is! it is!' persisted Ida, reading scraps from the letter; '"Title
and estates devolve on me--family bereavements--elder line extinct."'

'Give me the letter. Oh, you gave me such a turn!' said Mrs. Morton,
sinking into a chair.

'What's the row?' said another voice, as a sturdy bright-eyed boy,
between the ages of his sisters, came bouncing in. 'I say, I want my
grub--and be quick!'

'Oh