the house, she did, just as she does now. If she
hadn't had such a good heart, she'd have grown up unbearable. There
never was a child in this world so spoiled. But spoiling's good for
her, she says. It's to be hoped so, for spoiling she'll have to the end
of the chapter. She's born to get the best of everything, is Debbie
Pennycuick. Fortunately, her father's rich, though not so rich as he
used to be; and when she leaves her beautiful home, it'll be to go to
another as good, or better. She's got to marry well, that girl; she'd
never get along as a poor woman, with her extravagant ways. It'd never
do"--Mrs Urquhart's voice had, subtly changed, and something in it made
the blood rise to the cheeks of the listeners "it'd never do to put her
into an ordinary bush-house, where often she couldn't get servants for
love or money, because of the dull life, and might have to cook for
station hands herself, and even do the washing at a pinch--"

Jim wheeled round suddenly, and strode back to the house--the house, as
he was quite aware, which his mother alluded to. She, agitated by the
movement, and without completing her sentence, turned and trotted after
him. Alice was left leaning over the gate, at Guthrie Carey's side.

"You will enjoy this visit," she remarked calmly, ignoring the little
scene. "Redford is a beautiful place--quite one of the show-places of
the district--and they do things very well there. Mary is ostensibly
the housekeeper; she really does all the hard work, but it is Deb who
makes the house what it is. After she came home from school she got her
father to build the new part. Since then they have had much more
company than they used to have. Mary, who had been out for some years,
didn't care for gaieties. She is a dear girl--we are all awfully fond
of her--but she has a most curious complexion--quite bright red, as if
her skin had something the matter with it, although it hasn't. Of
course, that goes against her."

"Miss Deborah's complexion is wonderful."

"Yes. But oh, Deb isn't to be compared with Mary in anything except
looks. She is eaten up with vanity--one can't be surprised--and is very
dictatorial and overbearing; you could see that at lunch. But Mary is
so gentle, so unselfish--her father's right hand, and everybody's
stand-by."

"I don't think Miss Deborah seemed--"

"Because you don't know her. I do. She simply loathes children, while
Mary would mother all the orphan asylums in the world, if