ked him to stay and dine, Philip," she declares, when
they are again alone. "He is so chatty and amusing. Why, what are you
looking so black about?"

"I can't bear the fellow," mutters Philip. "I should like to knock him
down when he looks at you out of those loathsome eyes, and talks rot
enough to make one sick. The worst of it is you _like_ him. I shudder
for your taste."

"You are prejudiced," replies Eleanor hotly, "you can't bear me to have
a friend that is not of your own choosing! My taste wasn't a thing to
be shuddered at when I married _you_, was it? A selfish,
egotistical----"

"Hush, Eleanor," he says, laying his hands firmly but not unkindly on
her shoulders. "Don't let us quarrel, you will be sorry afterwards."

"I don't care _that_" (with a snap of her fingers) "whether we quarrel
or not. It is better, though, to speak out than bottle it up inside.
There! now you have got your reproachful look again, like the day you
said I was vulgar! Let me go," wriggling herself free.

She stifles a sob, bangs through the door, and runs upstairs whistling.
The refrain of the "Miller's" song is wafted down to the hall in
Eleanor's clear, rich voice:

I care for nobody, no, not I
If nobody cares for me.

Philip walks slowly back to the sofa, gazes a moment at the cushions,
then buries his face in their midst, grinding his teeth.

CHAPTER VIII.

KIND HEARTS ARE MORE THAN CORONETS.

Giddy Mounteagle's face is wreathed in smiles as she talks animatedly
to Eleanor.

"Yes, my dear," she says triumphantly, "Lady MacDonald comes to me
to-morrow. She is one of the smartest women in town and moves in the
best circles. She will stay the night and be the belle of my 'At home'
the following day. I long to introduce her to you. Such a stately,
aristocratic-looking woman, a little 'difficult' sometimes, but usually
charming. She takes offence if you introduce her to any one not
_quite_ up to the mark, and, since her marriage, is very particular
whom she knows. I used to see a great deal of her before she was Lady
MacDonald, but lately we have drifted apart."

"Is she stuck up?" asks Eleanor bluntly.

"No, that is hardly the word. 'Proud,' shall we say? 'dignified.'"

"Because she has married an old lord? How amusing! I shall like to
see her."

"I will bring her to tea with you, Eleanor," replies Mrs. Mounteagle,
feeling she is conferring an immense honour on Mrs. Roche. "Mind you
use