"A suitable wife for Maurice!" repeats she. "Where is _she_ to be
found?"

"Here! In this girl!" declares Lady Rylton solemnly. "Margaret, you
know how we are situated. You know how low we have fallen--_you_ can
understand that in this marriage lies our last hope. If Maurice can
be induced to marry Miss Bolton----"

A sound of merry laughter interrupts her here. There comes the sound
of steps upon the terrace--running steps. Instinctively the three
women within the room grow silent and draw back a little. Barely in
time; a tiny, vivacious figure springs into view, followed by a
young man of rather stout proportions.

"No, no, no!" cries the little figure, "you couldn't beat me. I bet
you anything you like you couldn't. You may play me again if you
will, and then," smiling and shaking her head at him, "we shall
see!"

The windows are open and every word can be heard.

"Your future daughter-in-law," says Mrs. Bethune, in a low voice,
nodding her beautiful head at Lady Rylton.

"Oh, it is detestable! A hoyden--a mere _hoyden_," says Lady Rylton
pettishly. "Look at her hair!"

And, indeed, it must be confessed that the hoyden's hair is not all
it ought to be. It is in effect "all over the place"--it is straight
here, and wandering there; but perhaps its wildness helps to make
more charming the naughty childish little face that peeps out of it.

"She has no manners--_none!"_ says Lady Rylton. "She----"

"Ah, is that you, Lady Rylton?" cries the small creature on the
terrace, having caught a glimpse of her hostess through the window.

"Yes, come in--come in!" cries Lady Rylton, changing her tone at
once, and smiling and beckoning to the girl with long fingers. "I
hope you have not been fatiguing yourself on the tennis-courts, you
dearest child!"

Her tones are cooing.

"I have won, at all events!" says Tita, jumping in over the
window-sill. "Though Mr. Gower," glancing back at her companion,
"won't acknowledge it."

"Why should I acknowledge it?" says the stout young man. "It's folly
to acknowledge anything."

"But the truth is the truth!" says the girl, facing him.

"Oh, no; on the contrary, it's generally a lie," says he.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourself," says Miss Bolton, turning her
back on him, which proceeding seems to fill the stout young man's
soul with delight.

"Do come and sit down, dear child; you look exhausted," says Lady
Rylton, still cooing.

"I'm not," says Tita, shaking her h