ried.

And it was all the easier to change the conversation, as at that moment
a maid entered with a tea-tray and a plate of hot, buttered scones.

Tea after a journey is always a most enjoyable meal, and when it was
over the girls made as careful a toilet as could be managed with the
materials at hand, the heavier luggage not having yet made its
appearance. Shortly before half-past five a tap came to the door, and a
maid entered with a double request.

"I have come to show you the way to the library, miss; and if you would
kindly give me your keys before you go, I will have your boxes unpacked.
What dresses would you like to wear for dinner?"

The horror of that moment was never to be forgotten. Before Ruth's eyes
there arose, as in a vision, the patches on the under-sleeves of her
morning blouse, the faded dressing-gown, the darns, and make-shifts and
pitiful little contrivances of poverty. Her cheeks flamed before the
sharp eyes of the abigail, and then flamed again with scorn at her own
folly.

"It is all neat and clean and tidy. I _won't_ be ashamed of it!" she
told herself angrily, as she turned to search for her keys.

But the evening-dresses! The next moment with a mingling of relief and
irritation, she heard Mollie's unabashed reply--

"Oh, we have only black dresses! We will wear the net over-skirts,
please!"

Just like Mollie, to wear her best clothes on the first possible
occasion, instead of prudently storing them up for a special need! But
it was too late to protest; already the maid was leading the way onward.
The all-important interview was at hand!

CHAPTER SEVEN.

MR. FARRELL'S PLAN.

"Miss Farrell, sir!" said the maid, throwing open the door of the
library.

And Ruth walked forward, followed closely by Mollie.

It was a long, narrow room, lined with book-shelves, and the solitary
light from a crimson-shaded lamp on the central table gave an air of
gloom after the bright illumination of the hall without. On a lounge-
chair beside the table sat Bernard Farrell, looking more cadaverous than
ever, with a velvet-skull-cap over his whitened locks. He did not rise
as his great-nieces approached, but held out his hand in a greeting
which was courteous enough, if somewhat cold.

"How do you do? I am pleased to see you. Excuse me for not having met
you earlier, but I am not feeling well to-day. I trust you have
received every attention since your arrival at the Court. Mrs Wolf