ey went down the narrow garden path I could see she was
speaking to Miss Hamilton rather angrily, but Miss Hamilton seemed to
take no notice.

What did it all mean? I wondered; and then I suddenly bethought myself of
my other visitor. I had wholly forgotten her existence in my interest in
her beautiful sister. What could have become of Lady Betty?

CHAPTER XIV

LADY BETTY LEAVES HER MUFF

This question was speedily answered.

The gate had scarcely closed behind my visitors when I heard a gay little
laugh behind me, and Lady Betty tripped across the passage and took
possession of the easy-chair in the friendliest way.

'Now we can have a chat and be cosy all by ourselves,' she said, with
childish glee; and then she stopped and looked at me, and her rosy little
mouth began to pout, and a sort of baby frown came to her forehead.

'You don't seem pleased to see me again. Shall I go away? Are you busy,
or tired, or is there anything the matter?' asked Lady Betty, in an
extremely fractious voice.

'There is nothing the matter, and I am delighted to see you, and'--with a
sudden inspiration--'if you will be good enough to stay and have tea with
me I will ask Mrs. Barton to send in one of her excellent tea-cakes.'

This was evidently what Lady Betty wanted, for she nodded and took off
her hat, and began to unbutton her long tan-coloured gloves in a cool,
business-like way that amused me. I ran across to the kitchen, and gave
Mrs. Barton a _carte blanche_ for a sumptuous tea, and when I returned I
found Lady Betty quite divested of her walking-apparel, and patting her
dark fluffy hair to reduce it to some degree of smoothness. She had a
pretty little head, and it was covered by a mass of short curly hair that
nothing would reduce to order.

'This is just what I like,' she said promptly. 'When Giles told us about
you, and I made up my mind to call, I hoped you would ask me to stay. I
do dislike stiffness and conventionality excessively. I hope you mean to
be friends with us, Miss Garston, for I have taken rather a fancy to you,
in spite of your grave looks. Dear me! do you always look so grave?'

'Oh no,' I returned, laughing.

'That is right,' with an approving nod; 'you look ever so much nicer and
younger when you smile. Well, what did the prime minister say? Was she
very gushing and sympathetic? Did she patronise you in a ladylike way,
and pat you on the head metaphorically, until you felt ready to box her