buy decent boots, and every one is devoted to her. I am rather
surprised that she should come to Groombridge for a party, she has shut
herself up so much; but it must be a year and a half at least since that
wicked old General was killed, and he certainly didn't deserve much
mourning at _her_ hands."

As Adela's little staccato voice went on, Molly stiffened and
straightened and starched herself morally, not unaided by this facile
description of the story in which she was so much involved. She would
fight it out here and now; nothing should make her flinch; she would
come up to time as calm and cool as if she were quite happy. And, after
all, Sir Edmund Grosse would be there to help her.

It was not until the first of the two heavy handsome old-fashioned
carriages, drawn by fine, sleek horses, was beginning to crawl up a very
steep hill that its occupants began to take an interest in those who
were following.

"Who is in the carriage behind us?" asked Sir Edmund of the young man
usually called Billy, who was sitting opposite him, and whom he was
never glad to meet.

"Mrs. Delaport Green and a girl I don't know--very dark and thin."

Edmund growled and fidgeted.

"Horrid vulgar little woman," he muttered between his teeth, "pushes
herself in everywhere, and I suppose she has got the heiress with her."

"Don't be so cross, Edmund," said Lady Rose. "Who is the heiress?"

"Oh! a Miss Dickson--not Dickson--what is it? The money was all made in
beer"--which was really quite a futile little lie. "But that isn't the
name: the name is Dexter. The girl is handsome and untruthful and
clever; let her alone."

Rose perceived that he was seriously annoyed, and waited with a little
curiosity to see the ladies in question.

As the two carriages crawled slowly up the zigzag road, climbing the
long and steep hill, the occupants of both gazed at the towers of the
Castle whenever they came in sight at a turn of the road, or at an
opening in the mighty horse-chestnuts and beeches, but they spoke little
about them. Those in the first carriage were too familiar with
Groombridge and its history and the others were too ignorant of both to
have much to say. Edmund Grosse gave expression to Rose's thought at the
sight of the familiar towers when he said:

"Poor old Groombridge! it is hard not to have a son or even a nephew to
leave it all to."

"He likes the cousin very much," said Rose.

"But isn't Mark Molyneux going to be a pri