rstand.'

'Mamma says that you are her friend, and not mine,' returned Mollie,
with big melancholy eyes; 'and that I ought not to put myself so
forward: but you are my friend, too, are you not, Miss Ross?'

'Of course I am, my dear little girl, just as Michael is Kester's
friend; and now I must tell you some more about him.'

But this was when she and Mollie were walking towards Hillside.

Audrey had deftly changed the subject after Mrs. Blake's remonstrance;
but as she talked she still held Mollie's hand. She felt very happy to
be sitting in that pretty shady drawing-room again, watching the pigeons
fluttering among the old arches. There was a bowl of dark crimson
carnations on the little work-table, and a cluster of the same fragrant
flowers relieved the sombreness of Mrs. Blake's black gown. She was
looking handsomer than ever this afternoon; she wore a little lace
kerchief over her dark glossy hair, and the delicate covering seemed to
enhance her picturesque, Mary Queen of Scots beauty, and to heighten the
brilliancy of her large dark eyes. Audrey had never seen her look so
charming, and her soft playful manners completed the list of her
fascinations. As usual, Audrey forgave her petulance and want of
consideration for Mollie. It was difficult to find fault with Mrs.
Blake; she was so gay and good-humoured, she so soon forgot anything
that had ruffled her, she was so childlike and irresponsible, that one
seemed to judge her by a separate code.

'I must go!' exclaimed Audrey, starting up, when it had chimed the hour.
She was in the midst of a description of one of their walking
expeditions--an attempt to reach a lovely tarn in the heart of the
hills. 'I must not wait any longer, as my mother will be expecting me.
Mollie, put on your hat; you can walk with me to Hillside;' and then she
hesitated.

It was very strange that all this time Mr. Blake's name had not been
mentioned. They had talked about Kester and Michael, but for once
Cyril's name had not been on his mother's lips.

'I hope your son enjoyed his holiday?' she asked, as she picked a little
sprig of scented geranium.

'I am afraid Cyril is not quite in the mood for enjoying himself,'
returned Mrs. Blake in rather a peculiar tone. 'Mollie, run and put on
your hat, as Miss Ross told you; and for goodness' sake do brush your
hair. My boy is not looking like himself,' she continued when they were
alone. 'I am rather uneasy about him; he has grown thin, a