ou and Miss Burnaby."

"He certainly said so," observed Varick coldly.

And then, for Blanche Farrow was above all things a woman of the world,
when the other two men came in she made everything quite easy for Sir
Lyon, pressing him to stay on, as if she had only just thought of it.
But she noticed, with covert amusement, that he was very unlike his
usual cool, collected self. He actually looked sheepish--yes, that was
the only word for it! Also, he made rather a favour of staying. "I shall
have to telegraph," he said; "for I'd made all my arrangements to go
back this afternoon."

"As for me," said Dr. Panton, "I must leave this afternoon, worse luck!
But there it is." He turned to Varick. "I've got an appointment in
London to-morrow morning--one I can't put off."

Donnington came in at last. He looked radiant--indeed, his look of
happiness was in curious contrast to the lowering expression which now
clouded Varick's face.

"Bubbles is nearly well again!" he cried joyfully. "She says she'll get
up to-morrow, doctor or no doctor!" He looked at Panton; then, turning
to Blanche, in a lower tone: "Also, she's shown me the most wonderful
letter from her father, written to her before Christmas. I always
thought he disliked me: but he liked me from the very first time we
met--isn't that strange?"

"Very strange," said Blanche, smiling.

They all scattered after breakfast, but Miss Farrow noticed that Varick
made a determined and successful attempt to carry off Helen Brabazon
from Sir Lyon, who had obviously been lying in wait for her.

"What dogs in the manger men are!" she said to herself. And then she
remembered, with a little gasp of dismay, her mysterious appointment
with Mark Gifford. She knew him well enough to be sure that he would be
in good time; but, even so, there was more than an hour to be got
through somehow before she could start for Darnaston.

She went up to Bubbles' room. Yes, the girl looked marvellously
better--younger too, quite different!

There came a knock at the door while she was there, and Donnington came
in.

"If you'd been wise," said Bubbles, looking up at him, "you'd have made
up to Helen Brabazon, Bill. She's like an apple, just ready to fall off
the tree."

"What _do_ you mean?" asked Blanche.

"Just what I say. She's tremendously in love with love!"

"D'you really think so?"

(If so, Sir Lyon's task would be an easy one.)

"I know it," said Bubbles positively. "I've made a