with a mischievous twinkle in the blue eyes which met
hers so fearlessly.

"I beg your pardon, miss," Lady Jane began, stammeringly: "I thought
this was Lady Oakley's room. She is my friend. I hope you will excuse
me," she continued, as she detected the smothered mirth in Daisy's eyes.

"There is nothing to excuse," Daisy began, in perfectly well-bred tones,
"the mistake was natural. Lady Oakley did occupy this room, I believe,
but she is now in the north wing, as Mrs. Smithers kindly gave this room
to me so that I might be near you; that is, if, as I suppose, you are
Lady Jane McPherson?" and she looked steadily at her visitor, who with a
slight bridling of her long neck, bowed in the affirmative, never
doubting that the young person before her was fully her equal,
notwithstanding the plainness of her dress, every detail of which she
took in at a glance and mentally pronounced perfect.

"Some poor earl's daughter whom Mrs. Smithers has found. She has a
peculiar talent for making good acquaintances," she thought, just as
Daisy offered her hand, which she involuntarily took, but dropped as if
it had been a viper when the latter said:

"Then you are my aunt, or rather my husband's aunt, for I am Mrs.
Archibald McPherson, and I am so glad to meet you."

Had a bomb-shell exploded at Lady Jane's feet and struck her in the face
she could not have been more astonished. Stepping quickly back from this
claimant to her notice, her face grew pale for an instant, and then
flushed with anger, as she gasped:

"_You_, Mrs. Archibald McPherson! that--that--" she did not say what,
but added, "What are you doing here?"

"Visiting Mrs. Smithers like yourself," Daisy replied, with
imperturbable gravity. "We were together in Florence, where I was sick,
and she was kind enough to like me, and she invited me to spend this
month with her, so that I might meet Archie's relatives, whom she
thought I ought to know, and Lady Oakley thinks so too. She came
yesterday."

"Yes," Lady Jane kept repeating, as she retreated step by step till she
stood in her own door, with her eyes still fixed upon Daisy, who
fascinated her in spite of her deeply rooted prejudice, amounting almost
to hatred.

The creature, as she designated her, was far prettier than she had
supposed, and might pass for a lady with those who knew nothing of her
antecedents--but then her reputation as a bold, fast woman! Would it be
safe or right to allow Blanche, whom she desi