ain what etiquette demanded of her under the circumstances. She
did not know very much about etiquette, but she had an idea that this
was Sir Dugald, whoever Sir Dugald might be. But Sir Dugald set her mind
at rest on nearing her.

"Good-evening, Theodora," he said, unceremoniously. "Of course, it is
Theodora."

Theo bowed, and blushed more brilliantly still.

"All the better," said this very singular individual. "Then I haven't
made a mistake," and, reaching, as he spoke, the parlor door at the foot
of the stairs, and finding that the mastiff was stretched upon the mat,
he favored him with an unceremonious, but not unfriendly kick, and then
opened the door, the dog preceding them into the room with slow
stateliness.

"You are a quick dresser, I am glad to see, Theodora," said Lady
Throckmorton, who awaited them. "Of course, there is no need of
introducing you two to each other. Sir Dugald does not usually wait for
ceremonies."

Sir Dugald looked down at the lovely face at his side with a ponderous
stare. He might have been admiring it, or he might not; at any rate, he
was favoring it with a pretty close inspection.

"I believe Sir Dugald has not introduced himself to me," said Theo, in
some confusion. "He knew that I was Theodora North; but I--"

"Oh!" interposed her ladyship, as collectedly as if she had scarcely
expected anything else, "I see. Sir Dugald Throckmorton. Theodora--your
uncle."

By way of returning Theo's modest little recognition of the
presentation, Sir Dugald nodded slightly, and, after giving her another
stare, turned to his mastiff, and laid a large muscular hand upon his
head. He was not a very prepossessing individual, Sir Dugald
Throckmorton.

Lady Throckmorton seemed almost entirely oblivious of her husband's
presence; she solaced herself by ignoring him.

When they rose from the table together, the authoritative old lady
motioned Theo to a seat upon one of the gay foot-stools near her.

"Come and sit down by me," she said. "I want to talk to you, Theodora."

Theo obeyed with some slight trepidation. The rich-colored old brown
eyes were so keen as they ran over her. But she seemed to be satisfied
with her scrutiny.

"You are a very pretty girl, Theodora," she said. "How old are you?"

"I am sixteen," answered Theo.

"Only sixteen," commented my lady. "That means only a baby in Downport,
I suppose. Pamela was twenty when she came to London, and I
remember--Well, never mind. Su