ve hurt anyone as you have hurt me to-day! You sneer at
them--hold them up to ridicule--while they are worth all the dressed-up
Lady MacDonalds you toady to!"

Her voice has risen shrilly; she forgets the folding doors.

"Enough!" says Giddy, tossing her head. "I suffered at your hands
yesterday. Pray spare me the effort of argument. Remember I have to
entertain, and must reserve my strength. Besides, it is so vulgar to
quarrel."

Eleanor walks haughtily to the door and flings it open.

"If I talk any more I shall stifle," she cries.

Giddy gives a low laugh.

"You will agree with me when you get over your temper," she declares,
passing out.

Eleanor sinks on her knees, and buries her head on Rover's shaggy coat.
She is alone, and the faint sound of buried sobs throbs upon the
silence of the room.

The dog licks her hand and whines. Slowly the folding doors push open,
and the old couple stand upon the threshold.

Mr. Grebby's round face is pale, Mrs. Grebby's cheeks wet with fast
falling tears.

"Oh! dearie, dearie," she cries, folding Eleanor in her arms. "We
ought not to 'ave come, we didn't know. But she was right, dearie, and
we will go away, and you shall have your party and your friends. Oh!
we was wrong, all wrong."

"Don't talk like that," moans Eleanor, realising they have overheard.
"She is a wicked snob--a--a--"

"There, dearie, be calm, don't fret."

"I will never forgive her," Eleanor stammers. "I love you and I hate
Giddy."

She kisses Mrs. Grebby's damp cheeks, talking between her sobs. "It
was not true, not one word of it, she just said it all to be
disagreeable. She likes me to be miserable; I don't believe she ever
had any parents of her own--I mean, not what you call parents. Some
say she was born in a workhouse, a caravan, or an East-end doss.
Though how she managed to be what she is they can't explain. I thought
she was nice, mammy. I called her my friend. I tried to be like her,"
shuddering at the recollection. "Oh! don't go away," taking them each
by the hand.

"Thank you, my girl, thank you," murmurs Mr. Grebby, "but Ma and I are
better at Copthorne. We are not fit for Society; some day you will
come back to the old 'ome and see us, won't you? and we'll all be happy
again together."

Eleanor and Mrs. Grebby dry their tears, while Mr. Grebby pats them
both on the back cheerily. Rover fawns round, barking and wagging his
tail.

Philip, who is staying late