door was opened by a neatly-dressed, motherly-looking woman of about
forty instead of by the dishevelled, smutty-faced maid-of-all-work that
he half expected to find.

"Does Miss Carol Vane live here?" he asked, with a curious feeling of
nervousness.

"Yes, sir, she and Miss Murray are just finishing breakfast. Will you
come in and sit down, sir? Miss Vane won't be long."

"Thank you, yes," he said, going in. "I wish to see her rather
particularly."

"What name shall I say, sir?" said the woman, as she showed him into a
prettily-furnished little sitting-room opening out into the back garden
with French windows.

"Sir Arthur Maxwell," he replied. "If you will give my compliments to
Miss Vane, and tell her that she will do me a great service by giving me
about half-an-hour's conversation, I shall be much obliged to you."

The housekeeper made something like a little curtsey as she left the
room. She was distinctly impressed by the stately presence and old-world
courtesy of this bronzed, white-haired gentleman. He was so very
different from the general run of visitors at No. 15; but she had half
guessed his errand before she knocked at the door of the front room in
which Miss Carol and her friend and house-mate, Dora Murray, were
finishing their last cup of tea.

"Well, Mrs. Ford," said Miss Carol, looking up from the letter she was
reading, "who might that be? This is pretty early for a morning call."

"The gentleman's name is Sir Arthur Maxwell, Miss."

"What!" said Miss Carol, colouring up and rising quickly from her chair.
"Sir Arthur Maxwell. What on earth does _he_ want?"

"He said, miss, that he'd be very much obliged to you if you could give
him the pleasure of half-an-hour's conversation."

"Oh, dear, I suppose he was the gentleman who stopped at the corner last
night just when my new acquaintance got out. His father, of course. I
suppose he's come to row me about making friends with his son and heir
last night."

"One of the penalties of your fascinations, dear," said Dora, with a
smile which parted a pair of eminently kissable lips and showed a very
pretty set of teeth behind them.

Dora was nearly a couple of inches taller than Miss Carol, and some
three years older. She had soft, lightish-brown hair, brown eyebrows, a
trifle browner, perhaps, than nature had painted them, and dark blue
eyes, which made a very pretty contrast.

"Well," she went on, "I suppose there's nothing for you but to go