dvantage of it. Dropping
the lowest courtesy I could make, I turned my back upon her, and walked
straight away to the other end of the room. But not before I had seen
that she was superbly dressed, and was leaning on the arm of Mr
Parmenter. Not, also, before I caught a fiery flash gleaming at me out
of the tawny eyes, and knew that I had made an enemy of the most
dangerous woman in my world.

But what could I have done else? If I had accepted Cecilia's hand, and
treated her as a friend, I should have felt as though I were conniving
at an insult to my father.

At the other end of the room, I nearly ran against a handsome,
dark-haired girl in a yellow satin slip, who to my great astonishment
said to me,--

"Well played, Miss Caroline Courtenay! I have been watching the little
drama, and I really compliment you on your readiness and spirit. You
have taken the wind out of her Ladyship's sails."

"Hatty!" I cried, in much amazement. "Is it you?"

"Well, I fancy so," said she, in her usual mocking way. "My beloved
Cary, do tell me, have you brought that delicious journal? Do let me
read to-night's entry!"

"Hatty!" I cried all at once. "You--"

"Yes, Madam?"

If she had not on my best purple scarf--my lost scarf, that my Aunt
Kezia could not find! But I did not go on. I felt it was of no earthly
use to talk to Hatty.

"Seen it before, haven't you?" said Hatty, in her odious teasing way.
"Yes, I thought I had better have it: mine is so shabby; and you are
only a little Miss--it does not matter for you. Beside, you have
Grandmamma to look after you. You shall have it again when I have done
with it."

I had to bite my tongue terribly hard, but I did manage to hold it. I
only said, "Where are you staying, Hatty?"

"At Mrs Crossland's, in Charles Street, where I shall be perfectly
delighted to see my youngest sister."

"Oh! Not with the Bracewells?"

"With the Bracewells, certainly. Did you suppose they had pitch-forked
me through the window into Mrs Crossland's drawing-room?"

"But who is Mrs Crossland?"

"A friend of the Bracewells," said Hatty, with an air of such studied
carelessness that I began to wonder what was behind it.

"Has Mrs Crossland daughters?" I asked.

"One--a little chit, scarce in her teens."

"Is there a Mr Crossland?"

"There isn't a Papa Crossland, if you mean that. There is a young Mr
Crossland."

"Oh!" said I.

"Pray, Miss Caroline, what do you mean by `