peaking, to
jeer--the departure, when Ruth came downstairs buttoning her gloves,
and, to her surprise, Mr Farrell was also present.

Both men looked up critically as she appeared, but neither glance was
altogether approving. Her new dress looked too old and staid for so
young a girl; moreover, her expression was fretful and worried. As she
reached the spot where the two men were seated, Victor came into the
hall from the doorway and looked round impatiently.

"Are you ready, Miss Ruth? The carriage has been waiting for some time
now."

"Oh, I have been ready for ages! It's Mollie who is the laggard. She
has been dressing ever since lunch, and is dressing still. I don't know
when she will be finished."

Mr Farrell turned imperiously to the butler.

"Be kind enough to send a message to Miss Mary that I object to having
the horses kept waiting. Three o'clock was the hour arranged, and it is
already a quarter past. Ask how soon she will be ready!"

The man departed, and there was an uncomfortable silence for several
minutes, broken at last by the banging of a door and the sound of racing
footsteps. A white-and-blue vision came flying down the staircase, with
filmy skirts floating behind, white feathers drooping over the golden
hair, a cobweb parasol unfurled, and held triumphantly aloft.

"I'm sorry! It took such ages to fasten, and I had to take my hair down
and do it up again to get the hat at the right angle. I wanted to
fasten my gloves, to give you the whole effect, parasol and all.
There!" Mollie strutted to and fro, turning her head from side to side
like a sleek, self-satisfied pigeon. "How do you like it? Don't you
think I look rather--nice?"

The two young men laughed aloud, and Mr Farrell said drily--

"Fine feathers make fine birds! I am glad to see that you have honoured
my friends by wearing your fineries for their benefit. Ruth, I presume,
prefers to keep hers for another occasion?"

Ruth dropped her eyelids and vouchsafed no reply. There was a little
lump in her throat at that moment which would have made it difficult to
speak in her usual voice. It was hard to have denied herself for
naught, and less than naught, for Mollie's extravagance seemed more to
the old man's taste than her own prudence. It was not the first time
that the difference in their attire had been the subject of little edged
remarks, which had made her bitterly regret the lost opportunity.

Seated in the car