ur little _coterie_ to-day, but we really _must_ not intrude
ourselves upon you longer, you will have so many _home_ topics to
discuss."

Mrs. Mounteagle refrains from her customary caress, whereat Eleanor
remarks:

"How pale you look, Giddy! Are you ill?"

"Yes," she replies, under her breath, "I have over-eaten
myself--overdone with APPLES!"

CHAPTER IX.

HEART SICK AND WEARY WITH THE JOURNEY'S FRET.

"You must _not_ go to-day," declares Eleanor emphatically, addressing
her parents. "I want to take you to Mrs. Mounteagle's party this
afternoon. I am sure she won't mind, we are such _great_ friends, and
two more will make no difference in a tea and coffee, four-to-seven
squash."

"Is it a real grand party?" asks Mrs. Grebby.

"Oh, yes; no end of people have been invited, and Giddy's affairs are
always so _chic_--that meaning stylish, smart--all sorts of grand
dresses and bonnets."

Mrs. Grebby gasps in wonderment. "I will lend you two jewelled pins
for your head gear, Ma--one of turquoise and another in the shape of an
olive--that Philip bought abroad, and declares is only paste."

"Well, we _shall_ be swells," says Mr. Grebby, grinning, "and my word,
what a lot we'll have to talk about when we gets 'ome."

"There," says Eleanor, shutting down an envelope and ringing for Sarah,
"I have written the note to Giddy."

She whistles Rover through the window, who is scratching up the lawn,
with splendid energy.

He bounds in and leaps on the sofa. Eleanor proceeds to scratch his
back comfortingly with a little ivory hand on the end of a long horn
stick. Then she calls for a comb, which Sarah produces, and fluffs at
his coarse hair, which is stiff, wiry, and grey.

"Mrs. Mounteagle has called to see you," says a voice in the doorway,
when Rover's toilet (which has occupied a full half-hour) is eventually
completed.

"Oh! show her in."

"But," with a glance at Mr. and Mrs. Grebby, "if you please, ma'am, she
asked to speak to you alone."

Eleanor closes the folding doors between her boudoir and the library.

"_You_ stay here, darlings," she says in a soft, cooing voice, "and I
will see Giddy in the next room. Come on, Rover--down, old boy--your
wet paws have done damage enough to my gown for one morning."

Still whistling, Eleanor saunters into Giddy's presence, her eyes as
radiant as stars, her lips parted in joyous greeting.

"You dear thing," she cries, "to come and see me, when you mus