ght be good for him."

"Don't be too indifferent, Cora," said her mother, with ingenuous
ineptness.

It was a very stupid bit of revelation, and Miss Brooke's eyes flashed.
If Emily Fox-Seton had been a sharp woman, she would have observed that,
if the _role_ of indifferent and piquant young person could be made
dangerous to Lord Walderhurst, it would be made so during this visit.
The man was in peril from this beauty from Cincinnati and her rather
indiscreet mother, though upon the whole, the indiscreet maternal parent
might unconsciously form his protection.

But Emily only laughed amiably, as at a humorous remark. She was ready
to accept almost anything as humour.

"Well, he _would_ be a great match for any girl," she said. "He is so
rich, you know. He is very rich."

When they reached Mallowe, and were led out upon the lawn, where the tea
was being served under embowering trees, they found a group of guests
eating little hot cakes and holding teacups in their hands. There were
several young women, and one of them--a very tall, very fair girl, with
large eyes as blue as forget-me-nots, and with a lovely, limp, and long
blue frock of the same shade--had been one of the beauties of the past
season. She was a Lady Agatha Slade, and Emily began to admire her at
once. She felt her to be a sort of added boon bestowed by kind Fate upon
herself. It was so delightful that she should be of this particular
house-party--this lovely creature, whom she had only known previously
through pictures in ladies' illustrated papers. If it should occur to
her to wish to become the Marchioness of Walderhurst, what could
possibly prevent the consummation of her desire? Surely not Lord
Walderhurst himself, if he was human. She was standing, leaning lightly
against the trunk of an ilex-tree, and a snow-white Borzoi was standing
close to her, resting his long, delicate head against her gown,
encouraging the caresses of her fair, stroking hand. She was in this
attractive pose when Lady Maria turned in her seat and said:

"There's Walderhurst."

The man who had driven himself over from the station in the cart was
coming towards them across the grass. He was past middle life and plain,
but was of good height and had an air. It was perhaps, on the whole,
rather an air of knowing what he wanted.

Emily Fox-Seton, who by that time was comfortably seated in a cushioned
basket-chair, sipping her own cup of tea, gave him the benefit of the
dou