Mr. Sorell's going to coach the young
man, or something. They're to be paying guests, for a month at least.
Mr. Powell was Mr. Sorell's college tutor--and Mr. Powell's dreadfully
poor--so I'm glad. No wife, mercifully!

"Anyway, you see, there are plenty of people about. Do come.

"I am, dear Constance,
Your affectionate aunt,
MARCIA RISBOROUGH."

"Now what on earth am I going to do about that?" said Constance, tossing
the letter over to Annette.

"Well, Mr. and Mrs. Hooper are going, cook says, to the Isle of Wight,
and Miss Alice is going with them," said Annette, "and Miss Nora's going
to join them after a bit in Scotland."

"I know all that," said Constance impatiently. "The question is--do you
see me sitting in lodgings at Ryde with Aunt Ellen for five or six
weeks, doing a little fancy-work, and walking out with Aunt Ellen and
Alice on the pier?"

Annette laughed discreetly over her knitting, but said nothing.

"No," said Connie decidedly. "That can't be done. I shall have to sample
Aunt Marcia. I must speak to Uncle Ewen to-morrow. Now put the light
out, please, Annette; I'm going to sleep."

But it was some time before she went to sleep. The night was hot and
thunderous, and her windows were wide open. Drifting in came the
ever-recurring bells of Oxford, from the boom of the Christ Church
"Tom," far away, through every variety of nearer tone. Connie lay and
sleepily listened to them. To her they were always voices, half alive,
half human, to which the dreaming mind put words that varied with the
mood of the dreamer.

Presently, she breathed a soft good night into the
darkness--"Mummy--mummy darling! good night!" It was generally her last
waking thought. But suddenly another--which brought with it a rush of
excitement--interposed between her and sleep.

"Tuesday," she murmured--"Mr. Sorell says the schools will be over by
Tuesday. I wonder!--"

And again the bluebell carpet seemed to be all round her--the light and
fragrance and colour of the wood. And the man on the black horse beside
her was bending towards her, all his harsh strength subdued, for the
moment, to the one end of pleasing her. She saw the smile in his dark
eyes; and the touch of sarcastic _brusquerie_ in the smile, that could
rouse her own fighting spirit, as the touch of her whip roused the
brown mare.

* * * * *

"Am I really so late?" said Connie, in distress, running downstairs the
fol