t
my grandfather was a younger son and a ne'er-do-weel; he was kicked
out--he quite broke off--"

"Never mind. You needn't go into inconvenient particulars. Try and
remember all you know that's nice about the Hall and the family. Did
you ever hear of a Mary Carey? But no--she would be before your time,
of course."

"There was an old Mary Carey; she married a Spencer. She was pointed
out to me last time I was at home--the nut-cracker type, nose and chin
together--"

"Goodness! Keep that dark too, for mercy's sake! She is his ideal
woman. It is for her sake he wants you to talk Wellwood with. If you
spoil his pleasure with that hint of nut-crackers, I'll never forgive
you."

"I hope I know better," Guthrie smiled, coming to himself a little.

"I am sure you do," said she, and turned from him to take her chair at
table.

"Then we'll bring him tomorrow," Alice said, seating herself.

"This afternoon," said the visitor commandingly.

Alice wanted another moonlight talk about the baby, and knew the small
chance of getting it where Deborah Pennycuick was, and she raised
obstacles, fighting for delay. Deborah calmly turned to Jim.

"Anything to hinder your coming this afternoon, Jim?"

"Nothing," said Mr Urquhart promptly.

The matter was evidently settled.

They sat down to lunch, and the talk was brisk. It was almost confined
to the visitor and Alice, although the former carefully avoided the
shutting out of the hostess from the conversation, in which she was
incapable of taking a brilliant part. Jim, in the host's place, sat
dumb and still, except for his alertness in anticipating his guest's
little wants. Guthrie Carey, on her other hand, was equally silent.
Neither of the two men heard what she talked about for listening to the
mere notes of her charming voice.

After luncheon she put on her sensible straw hat.

"You must drive Mr Carey," she said to Jim. "I'll just ride ahead, and
let them know you are coming."

"Let us all go together," said Alice. "I'll drive Mr Carey, and Jim can
escort you."

But there was no gainsaying Deborah Pennycuick when she had expressed
her views.

"You have to get ready," she pointed out, "and you'll do it quicker if
I'm not here. Besides, I can't wait."

They all went out with her to the gate, where her superb, high-tempered
horse pawed the gravel, and champed upon his bit. Jim sent her
springing to the saddle from his horny palm like a bird let out of it,
and they