ng to decay. We had no idea then that we
should ever know you. This is your room; it is quite close to Mina's and
mine. See, the river is just before the windows. I always think the
Kelvin looks so pretty from here, because one cannot see its impurity.'

'It is beautiful--a great change for me,' said Gladys dreamily, as her
eyes roamed round the spacious and elegant guest-chamber. 'How pleasant
it must be always to live among so many beautiful things! I have loved
them all my life, but I have seen so few since I came from the fen
country with my uncle.'

'It was very strange that he, so rich, should keep you in that wretched
place,' said Clara. 'How much better had he shared it all with you while
he lived.'

'Yes; but I think he was happier as it was, and it pleased him at the
end, I know, to think that he had given me Bourhill.'

'I am sure it did. Well, I shall go now, dear, and leave you to unpack.
You will find the wardrobe and all the drawers empty. Mamma will be
coming to you immediately, likely.'

With a nod and a smile, Clara took herself off to the drawing-room
again.

'What do you think of Miss Graham of Bourhill?' asked Mina, with her
mouth full of cake. 'Quite to the manner born. Don't you think so?'

'Quite. And isn't she lovely? Wait till mamma has taken her to Redfern,
and then you and I may retire, my dear; we shall be eclipsed.'

'If so, let us be resigned. One thing I know, you don't believe in
presentiments, of course, you matter-of-fact young person, but I feel
that she is to be mixed up with us in some mysterious way, and that some
day, perhaps, we may wish we had never seen Miss Graham of Bourhill.'

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XVII.

THE WEST END.

Now Gladys had her opportunity of seeing the beautiful side of life. Her
taste being naturally refined and fastidious, found a peculiar
satisfaction in the beauty of her surroundings. It was a very real
pleasure to her to tread upon soft carpets, breathe a pure air, only
sweetened by the breath of flowers, and to rest her eyes with delicate
combinations of colour and the treasures of art to be found in the
lawyer's sumptuous house. Never had she more strikingly betrayed her
special gift, of which Abel Graham had spoken on his death-bed, 'ability
to adapt herself to any surroundings;' she seemed, indeed, as Mina
Fordyce had said, 'to the manner born.'

She endeared herself at once by her gentleness of manner to every inmate
of the ho