er door.

"Heigh-ho!" sighed Gwendolen, and she poured the bran-mash into a bowl
and took it up to her father's room.

For eighteen years Gwendolen French had been the daughter of John French
of Primrose Farm. Endowed by Nature with a beauty that is seldom seen
outside this sort of story, she was yet as modest and as good a girl as
was to be found in the county. Many a fine lady would have given all her
Parisian diamonds for the peach-like complexion which bloomed on the
fair face of Gwendolen. But the gifts of Nature are not to be bought and
sold.

There was a sudden knock at the door.

"Come in," cried Gwendolen in surprise. Unless it was the cow, it was an
entirely unexpected visitor.

A tall and handsome young man entered, striking his head violently
against a beam as he stepped into the low-ceilinged kitchen.

"Good morning," he said, repressing the remark which came more readily
to his lips. "Pray forgive this intrusion. The fact is I have lost my
way, and I wondered whether you would be kind enough to inform me as to
my whereabouts."

Recognizing from his conversation that she was being addressed by a
gentleman, Gwendolen curtsied.

"This is Primrose Farm, sir," she said.

"I fear," he replied with a smile, "it has been my misfortune never to
have heard so charming a name before. I am Lord Beltravers, of
Beltravers Castle, Beltravers. Having returned last night from India I
came out for an early stroll this morning, and I fear that I have
wandered out of my direction."

"Why," cried Gwendolen, "your lordship is miles from Beltravers Castle.
How tired and hungry you must be." She removed a lettuce from the
kitchen chair, dusted it, and offered it to him. (That is to say, the
chair, not the lettuce.) "Let me get you some milk," she added. Picking
up a pail, she went out to inspect the cow.

"Gad," said Lord Beltravers as soon as he was alone. He paced rapidly
up and down the tiled kitchen. "Deuce take it," he added recklessly,
"she's a lovely girl." The Beltraverses were noted in two continents for
their hard swearing.

"Here you are, sir," said Gwendolen, returning with the precious liquid.

Lord Beltravers seized the pail and drained it at a draught.

"Heavens, but that was good!" he said. "What was it?"

"Milk," said Gwendolen.

"Milk; I must remember. And now may I trespass on your hospitality still
further by trespassing on your assistance so far as to solicit your help
in putting me far e