ained to Somerled and Basil. "It _is_
such a child, isn't it? And when she wakes up there may be a wire in
answer to mine, which went before eight."

When ten o'clock struck and still the telegram had not arrived, Aline
asked herself if she oughtn't to go and call on old Mrs. MacDonald, who
had deigned to take no notice of her tactfully expressed letter. Just
then, however, Somerled's chauffeur was seen hovering in the flowery
distance. He had brought two stage papers which his master had sent him
out to buy. Aline was not pleased that Somerled had thought it necessary
to get information on his own account. She would have preferred that he
should trust to her; but she tried to think that perhaps he too was
secretly tired of the girl and wanted to be rid of her. While he was
glancing through the first paper, Moore glided into the summer-house
with a brick-coloured envelope on a silver tray. It was addressed to
Aline, and she opened it quickly, glad to be ahead of Ian with news.
Then she found herself confronting an unexpected difficulty. "Mrs. B. M.
trying new play small towns; will open Edinburgh in five or six days."
With something like a gasp, Aline stopped on the brink of reading the
telegram aloud. Who would have thought of this?

Her brain worked quickly. She didn't want Somerled to know that "Mrs.
Bal" was so near. He might--make some ridiculous proposal about the
girl--Heaven alone knew what! Men were capable of anything. The
troublesome creature must really go back to her grandmother at once.
Mrs. Bal could easily come to Carlisle and collect her--like lost
luggage--if she cared to be burdened with such luggage. If only Aline
could find some excuse to make Somerled put down that paper and
forthwith go into the house!

"Is your telegram from Sir George?" he inquired calmly, looking up from
the paper which she longed to snatch.

For half a second she hesitated, and then said, "No. It's not what I
expected." This was almost true.

Basil was gazing at her with solicitude. He thought that she had turned
pale. "No bad news from any one, I hope, dear?" he asked.

"It is annoying," she replied with reserve, and crumpled up the
telegram. "I was stupid to let Moore go--I must send an answer. Mr.
Somerled, it would be too good of you to look for a form on the desk in
the drawing-room."

"Shan't I----" began Basil.

"I must ask your advice, meanwhile, about what I'm to say," she cut him
short. Somerled put down th