in favorable soil would be certain to bear roses.

But in the immediate present, the fly with the immense American
wardrobe trunk beside the driver, turned into the avenue of Stoke
Revel, and Mrs. David Loring bestowed upon herself those little
feminine attentions which precede arrival--pattings of the hair behind
the ears, twitches of the veil, and pullings down about the waist and
sleeves. A little toy of a purse made of golden chainwork, hanging
from her wrist, was searched for the driver's fare, and it had hardly
snapped to again when the fly drew up before the entrance to the
house. How interesting it looked! Robinette put her head out of the
carriage window and gazed up at the long row of windows, the old
weather-coloured stones, and the carved front of the building. Here
was a house where things might happen, she thought, and her young
heart gave a sudden bound of anticipation.

But the door was shut, alas! and a blank feeling came over Robinette
as she looked at it. Some one perhaps would come out and welcome
her, she thought for a brief moment, but only the butler appeared,
who, with the formal announcement of her name, ushered her into a
long, low room with a row of windows on one side and a pleasant
old-fashioned look of comfort and habitation. She caught a glimpse
of a tea-table with a steaming urn upon it, heard the furious barking
of a little dog, saw that there were two figures in the room and
moved instinctively towards the one beside the window, the figure in
weeds, neither very tall nor very imposing, yet somehow formidable.

"How do you do?" said an icy voice, and a chill hand held hers for a
moment, but did not press it. The colour in Robinette's cheeks paled
and then rushed back, as she drew herself up unconsciously.

"I am very well, thank you, Aunt de Tracy," she answered with
commendable composure.

"This is my friend and companion, Miss Smeardon," continued Mrs. de
Tracy, advancing to the tea-table where that useful personage
officiated. "Mrs. David Loring--Miss Smeardon." Miss Smeardon had the
dog upon her lap, yapping, clashing his teeth together, and obviously
thirsting for the visitor's blood. He was quieted with soothing words,
and Robinette seated herself innocently in the nearest chair, beside
the table.

"Excuse me!" the companion said with a slight cough; "Mrs. de Tracy's
chair! Do you mind taking another?" There was something disagreeable
in her voice, and in Mrs. de Tracy's de