day," said Harold,
"so you will have a chance of pursuing the acquaintance. For my part, I
don't admire that sort of girl."

"Don't you? I am attracted by originality. I like a woman to have
something in her."

"Depends on what it is. I hate a girl to have a lot of silly ideas."

"Perhaps you prefer her to have but one," said Temperley, "that one
being that Mr. Harold Wilkins is a charming fellow."

"Nothing of the kind," cried Harold. "I can't help it if girls run after
me; it's a great bore."

Temperley laughed. "You, like Achilles, are pursued by ten thousand
girls. I deeply sympathize, though it is not an inconvenience that has
troubled me, even in my palmiest days."

"Why, how old are you? Surely you are not going to talk as if those days
were over?"

"Oh, I am moderately palmy still!" Temperley admitted. "Still, the hour
approaches when the assaults of time will become more disastrous."

"You and Hadria Fullerton ought to get on well together, for she is very
musical," said Harold Wilkins.

"Ah!" cried Temperley with new interest. "I could have almost told that
from her face. Does she play well?"

"Well, I suppose so. She plays things without any tune that bore one to
death, but I daresay you would admire it. She composes too, I am told."

"Really? Dear me, I must make a point of having a talk with her, on the
earliest opportunity."

Meanwhile, the occupants of the pony-cart had arrived at Darachanarvan,
where they were to put up the pony and have luncheon. It was a prosaic
little Scottish town, with only a beautiful survival, here and there,
from the past.

After luncheon, they wandered down to the banks of the river, and
watched the trout and the running water. Hadria had long been wishing
to find out what her oracle thought about certain burning questions on
which the sisters held such strong, and such unpopular sentiments, but
just because the feeling was so keen, it was difficult to broach the
subject.

An opportunity came when Miss Du Prel spoke of her past. Hadria was able
to read between the lines. When a mere girl, Miss Du Prel had been
thrown on the world--brilliant, handsome, impulsive, generous--to pass
through a fiery ordeal, and to emerge with aspirations as high as ever,
but with her radiant hopes burnt out. But she did not dwell on this side
of the picture; she emphasized rather, the possibility of holding on
through storm and stress to the truth that is born in one; to belief in