iled me quite demonstratively with their eager,
ringing voices: "Lucy! Lucy Alison! So glad to see you! Here we are
again. Introduce us, pray."

So I did. Mr. Horsman, Miss Hippolyta, and Miss Philippa Horsman--Baby
Jack, Hippo, and Pippa, as they were commonly termed--and we all rode
together as long as we were on the Roman road, while they conveyed,
rather loudly, information about the Dolomites.

They were five or six years older than I, and the recollection of
childish tyranny and compulsion still made me a little afraid of them.
They excelled in all kinds of sports in which we younger ones had not
had nearly so much practice, and did not much concern themselves
whether the sport were masculine or feminine, to the distress of the
quiet elder half-sister, who stayed at home, like a hen with ducklings
to manage.

They spoke of calling, and while I could not help being grateful, I
knew how fallen my poor mother would think me to welcome the notice of
Pippa and Hippo.

Most enthusiastic was the latter as she rode behind with me, looking at
the proportions of Harry and his horse, some little way on before, with
Dora on one side, and Pippa rattling on the other.

"Splendid! Splendiferous! More than I was prepared for, though I
heard all about the lion--and that he has been a regular stunner in
Australia--eh, Lucy, just like a hero of Whyte-Melville's, eh?"

"I don't think so."

"And, to complete it all, what has he been doing to little Viola Tracy?
Oh, what fun! Carrying her off bodily to see you, wasn't it? Lady
Diana is in such a rage as never was--says Dermot is never to be
trusted with his sister again, and won't let her go beyond the garden
without her. Oh, the fun of it! I would have gone anywhere to see old
Lady Di's face!"

CHAPTER V.

THE CAPTURE IN THE SNOW.

I do not recollect anything happening for a good while. Our chief
event was the perfect success of Mr. Yolland's concentrated fuel, which
did not blow up anything or anybody, and the production of some lovely
Etruscan vases and tiles, for which I copied the designs out of a book
I happily discovered in the library. They were sent up to the
porcelain shops in London, and orders began to come in, to the great
exultation of Harold and Co., an exultation which I could not help
partaking, even while it seemed to me to be plunging him deeper and
deeper in the dangerous speculation.

We put the vases into a shop in the town and w