en
changing colour. 'I'm no' gaun to tell ye a single thing. My concerns
are my ain, an' if ye're no' pleased, weel, I can shift.'

The girl's matter-of-fact, unruffled demeanour somewhat allayed Teen's
burning anxiety, and, afraid to try Liz too far, lest she should insist
on leaving her, she held her peace.

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XXXV.

A REVELATION.

'Your Aunt Isabel was here this afternoon, George,' said Mrs. Fordyce to
her son, when he came home from the mill that evening. 'She came over to
tell me Gladys is in town. I said I thought you did not expect her.'

'No, I did not,' George replied. 'What's she up for?--anything new?'

'Oh, one of her fads. Something about one of these girls from the slums.
Your aunt seemed to be rather distressed. She thinks Gladys is going
quite too far, and she really took the opportunity, when the girls had
all gone to a studio tea, to come over to consult me. We both think you
are quite entitled to interfere.'

George shook his head.

'It is all very easy for you to say that, but I tell you Gladys won't
stand that sort of thing.'

'But, my dear, she must be made to stand it. I must say her conduct is
most unwomanly. If she is to be your wife, she must be taught that you
are to be considered in some ways. You must be very firm with her,
George; it will save no end of trouble afterwards.'

Mrs. George Fordyce was a large stout person, of imposing presence, and
she delivered herself of this admirable sentiment most impressively; but
though her son quite agreed with her, and wished with all his heart that
the girl of his choice were a little less erratic and self-willed, he
was wise enough to know that any attempt at coercion would be the very
last thing to make her amenable to reason.

'What girl is it now?' he asked, with affected carelessness, but furtive
anxiety. 'The same one who has been staying at Bourhill?'

'No; something far worse--a dreadful low creature, who has been missing
for some time. If Gladys were not as innocent as a baby she would know
that she is a creature not fit to be spoken to. Really, George, that
Miss Peck is utterly useless as a chaperon. I wish we knew what to do.
It is one of the most exasperating and delicate affairs possible.'

'That girl!' repeated George, so blankly that his mother looked at him
in sharp amazement. 'Heavens! then it's all up, mother.'

'All up? What on earth do you mean?'

'What I say. Is it a girl called H