proper pride?'

Gladys smiled with the faintest touch of scorn as she asked the
question.

'You know what it is just as well as I can tell you, only it pleases you
to be perverse this morning,' said Clara good-humouredly, 'and I am not
going to say any more.'

'Yes you are. I want to understand this thing. Is it imperative that the
mere fact that my uncle has left me money and a house should make me a
different person altogether?'

'It affects your position, not necessarily you. Don't be silly and
aggravating, Gladys, or I must shake you,' said Clara, with the frank
candour of a privileged friend. 'And really I cannot understand why you
should be anxious to keep in touch with that old life, which was so
awfully mean and miserable.'

'It had compensations,' said Gladys quickly. 'And I do think, that if it
is all as you say, there is more sincerity among poor people than among
rich. There is no court paid, anyhow, to money and position.'

'My dear, you are not at all complimentary to us,' laughed Clara. 'Your
ingenuousness is truly refreshing.'

'I am not speaking about you, and you know it quite well,' answered
Gladys. 'But if the world is as fond of outward things as you say, I do
not wish to know anything of it. I could not feel at home in it, I am
sure.'

'My dear little girl, wait till your place is put in order, and you take
up your abode in it, Miss Graham of Bourhill, the envied and the admired
of a whole county, and you will change your mind about the world. Just
wait till the next Hunt Ball at Ayr, and we'll see what changes it will
bring.'

There was no refuting Clara's good-natured worldly wisdom, and Gladys
had to be silent. But she pondered many things in her heart.

'When do we go to Troon? Isn't it next week?'

'Yes, on Tuesday.'

'Do you think,' she asked then, with a slight hesitation, 'that Mrs.
Fordyce would allow me to pay a little visit to my old home before I go,
for the last time?'

There was all the simplicity and wistfulness of a child in her manner,
and it touched Clara to the quick.

'Gladys, are you a prisoner here, dear? Don't vex me by saying things
like that. Do you not know that you can go out and in just as you like?
Of course you shall go. I will take you myself, if mamma cannot, and
wait for you outside.'

True to her promise, Clara ordered the brougham on Monday afternoon, and
carried Gladys off to Colquhoun Street. Clara was, like most quiet
people, singularly ob