her son which for
the moment she was powerless to resist.

"Of course she will dine with us," Harold said. And of course she did,
although Mrs. Purling looked as if she wished every mouthful would
choke her. Of course Harold called her Dolly to her face; was she not
his cousin? Quite as naturally he would have given her a cousinly kiss
when he said good-night, but something in her pure eyes and modest
face restrained him.

Certainly she was the nicest girl he had ever met in his life.

"Where's Doll?" he asked next morning at breakfast. "Not down?"

"Miss Driver is half-way to London, I hope," replied Mrs. Purling,
curtly. She was not a bad general, and had taken prompt measures
already to recover from her temporary reverse.

"I shall go after her."

"If you do, you need not trouble to return."

Nothing more was said, but anger filled the hearts of both mother and
son.

CHAPTER IV.

"I expect my dear friend, Miss Fanshawe, in a few days, Harold. I
trust you will treat her becomingly."

"One would think I was a bear just escaped from the Zoo. Why should
you fear discourtesy from me to any lady?"

"Because she is a friend of mine. Of late you seemed disposed to run
counter to me in every respect."

"I have no such desire, I assure you," said Harold, gravely; and there
the matter ended.

The preparation for Miss Fanshawe's reception could not have been more
ambitious if she had been a royal princess. With much reluctance Mrs.
Purling eschewed triumphal arches and a brass band, but she
redecorated the best bedroom, and sent two carriages to the station,
although her guest could hardly be expected to travel in both.

"_This_ is Miss Fanshawe," said the heiress, with much emphasis--"the
Honourable Miss Fanshawe."

"The Honourable Miss Fanshawe is only a very humble personage, not at
all deserving high-sounding titles," said the young lady for herself.
"My name is Phillipa--to my friends, and as such I count you, dear
Mrs. Purling; perhaps some day I may be allowed to say the same of
your son."

She spoke rapidly, with the fluent ease natural to a well-bred woman.
In the subdued light of the cosy room Harold made out a tall, slight
figure, well set off by the tight-fitting ulster; she carried her head
proudly, and seemed aristocratic to her finger-tips.

"I should have known you anywhere, Mr. Purling," she went on, without
a pause. "You are so like your dear mother. You have the same eyes."

It