ay.

"Captain Angus Rothesay! I think that was the name mentioned by my
friend."

"Shall I call Olive? Perhaps she knows your friend," observed Meliora.

"Oh no! Mrs.--that is, the lady I allude to, said they were entire
strangers, and it was needless to mention her name. Do not trouble Miss
Rothesay with my idle inquiry. Many thanks for the clematis; and good
morning, my dear Miss Vanbrugh."

She ascended her carriage with the easy, smiling grace of one born to
fortune, marrying fortune, and dwelling hand-in-hand with fortune all
her life. Miss Meliora gazed in intense admiration after her departing
wheels, and forthwith retired to plan out of the few words she had let
fall a glorious future for her dear Miss Rothesay. There was certainly
some unknown wealthy relative who would probably appear next week, and
carry off Olive and her mother to affluence--in a carriage as grand as
Mrs. Fludyer's.

She would have rushed at once to communicate the news to her friends,
had it not been that she was stopped in the garden-walk by the
apparition of her brother escorting two gentlemen from his studio--a
rare courtesy with him. Meliora accounted for it when, from behind a
sheltering espalier, she heard him address one of them as "my lord."

But when she told this to Olive, the young paintress was of a different
opinion. She had heard the name of Lord Arundale, and recognised it as
that of a nobleman on whom his love of Art and science shed more honour
than his title. That was why Mr. Vanbrugh showed him respect, she knew.

"Certainly, certainly!" said Meliora, a little ashamed. "But to think
that such a clever man, and a nobleman, should be so ordinary in
appearance. Why, he was not half so remarkable-looking as the gentleman
who accompanied him."

"What was _he_ like?" said Olive smiling.

"You would have admired him greatly. His was just the sort of head
you painted for your 'Aristides the Just'--your favourite style of
beauty--dark, cold, proud, with such piercing, eagle eyes; they went
right through me!"

Olive laughed merrily.

"Do you hear, mamma, how she runs on? What a bewitching young hero!"

"A hero, perhaps, but not exactly young; and as for bewitching, that he
certainly might be, but it was in the fashion of a wizard or a magician.
I never felt so nervous at the sight of any one in the whole course of
my life." Here there was a knock at the drawing-room door.

"Come in," said Olive; and Mr. Vanbrugh ent