ng
with her.

'Walter Hepburn, my uncle's assistant.'

Had she looked at him then, she must have been struck by the strange
expression, coupled with a sudden flash, which passed over his face.

'Ah yes, just so. Well, I'm glad the fates have been kind, and brought
you at last where there's a chance of being appreciated,' he said
carelessly. 'Nice little girls my cousins--awfully good-hearted little
souls, though Mina's tongue is a trifle too sharp. Yes, miss, I'm
warning Miss Graham against you,' he said when Mina uttered his name in
a warning note.

'Now, to punish you, I shall tell you my latest anecdote,' Mina said;
and, heedless of the half-laughing, half-eager protest of Gladys, she
related the incident of the portrait, with a little embellishment which
made him appear in rather a ridiculous light.

In the midst of the laughter which the relation provoked, Mrs. Fordyce
entered the room.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVIII.

'THE DAYS THAT ARE NOT.'

The last days of April came, the family in Bellairs Crescent were making
preparations for an immediate departure to the Ayrshire coast, and as
yet Gladys had not seen or heard anything of Walter. She had a longing
to revisit the old home, and yet a curious reluctance held her back. She
felt hurt, and even a trifle irritated against Walter; and though she
understood, and in a measure sympathised with his feelings, she thought
him needlessly morbid and sensitive regarding their new relation towards
each other.

'Gladys,' said Clara one day, when she had watched in silence the girl's
sweet face, and noticed its half-sad, half-wistful expression, 'what is
the matter with you? You are fretting about something. Tell me what it
is. Do you not wish to go to Troon with us, or would you rather go to
Bourhill? Do tell us what you would like best to do?'

They were quite alone in the little morning-room, which had been given
up to the girls of the house to adorn as they liked. It was a pretty
corner, dainty, home-like, cosy, with a long window opening out to the
garden, which was as beautiful as it is possible for a city garden to
be.

Gladys gave a little start, and coloured slightly under Clara's earnest
gaze.

'I am quite happy at the idea of going to Troon; remember I have never
seen the sea,' she answered quickly. 'What makes you think I am
unhappy?'

'My dear, you look it. You can't hide it from me, and you are going to
tell me this very moment what is