without showing it to any one or taking any one's advice upon it.
To have done so would have been quite contrary to Sarah's habits, for she
was of a very independent character, and the circumstances of her whole
life no doubt fostered this characteristic.

'So we've got a grand young lady from London coming up to stay with us
plain folk,' said Mr Mark Clay when he saw his daughter at dinner that
evening.

'I've asked one of my schoolfellows to come to stay with me; but I don't
know that she will come, and I don't know that you will think her grand.
She dresses very plainly,' replied Sarah.

'Then she'll be all the more willing to come if she's poor,' said Mr
Clay.

'She's not in the least poor. It's not the fashion for schoolgirls to
dress very grandly,' said Sarah hastily.

'Nonsense! People dress as they can afford; and, I'll be bound, I could
buy up her father twice over,' said Mark Clay in his boastful way.

Sarah's lips curled scornfully. 'You couldn't buy his rank. I hope to
goodness she won't come,' she said.

No notice was taken of this remark, which was put down to Sarah's
contradictoriness, and no one knew how heartily the girl repented of her
invitation.

Meanwhile Horatia Cunningham opened the letter from her friend, without
in the least expecting it to contain an invitation to visit the
schoolfellow whom they all talked of as the millionaire's daughter. Great
was her surprise on reading it, for Sarah never talked at school of her
people or her home, and the girls vaguely imagined that she was unhappy
in her home.

'Mamma, just listen to this letter,' Horatia cried, as she read the
letter aloud at the breakfast-table:

'"DEAR HORATIA,--Will you come and spend as much of the holidays as
you can spare with me? We live on a hill outside Ousebank, so that
you will not be in a manufacturing town, and we can go for plenty
of walks or rides and drives and play tennis as much as you like. I
shall be all alone, as my brother is going to stay with friends in
Scotland.--Your affectionate friend, SARAH CLAY."'

'What an extraordinary letter! She is not gushing,' said Lady Grace
Cunningham, as she continued to pour out the coffee.

'Is she an orphan, and what does she mean by being all alone? Has she no
guardian or chaperon?' inquired Horatia's father.

'She has a father and a mother. She is the daughter of a millionaire
blanket-maker named Clay.'

'I believe I've heard th