ts, and he was very much obliged to Mr. Drummond for his
civility, but he did not wish to receive visitors.

Phillis was a little contrary all the remainder of the day: she was
not exactly cross,--all the Challoners were sweet-tempered,--but
nothing quite suited her. Mrs. Challoner had proposed going that
evening into the town with her youngest daughter to execute some
commissions.

Just before they started Phillis observed rather shortly that she
should call at the White House to make inquiries after Mrs. Cheyne,
and that she would came back to the Friary to fetch Nan for a country
walk. "If I do not appear in half an hour, you must come in search of
me," finished Phillis, with a naughty curl of her lip, to which Nan
with admirable tact returned no answer, but all the same she fully
intended to carry out the injunction; for Nan had imbibed her mother's
simple old-fashioned notions, and a lurking dislike of Mrs. Williams's
lodger had already entered her mind.

As Phillis did not enjoy her errand, she put on the best face she
could, and hurried down the Braidwood Road as though her feet were
winged like a female Mercury; and Mr. Dancy, who happened to be
looking over the wire blind in the little parlor, much admired the
girl's free swift gait as she sped down the avenue. Evans, the young
footman, admitted her, and conducted her at once to the drawing-room;
and great was Phillis's surprise and discomposure when she saw Mrs.
Cheyne sitting alone reading by one of the windows, with her
greyhounds grouped around her.

She started slightly at the announcement of Phillis's name, and, as
she came forward to greet her, a dark flush crossed her face for a
moment; then her features settled into their usual impassive calm,
only there was marked coldness in her voice.

"Good-evening. Miss Challoner: you have chosen a fine evening for your
visit. Let me beg of you never again to venture to the White House in
such a storm."

Phillis stammered out something about hoping that she was better, but
she interrupted her almost abruptly:

"Much better, thank you. I am afraid you found me decidedly strange
yesterday. I had what people call a nervous attack: electricity in the
air, a brooding storm, brings it on. It is a pity one should be so
childish as to dread thunder; but we are oddly constituted, some of
us." She shrugged her shoulders, as though to dismiss the subject, and
stroked the head of the greyhound that lay at her feet.