s'
eyes. Certainly she did not deserve to after the way in which she had
repelled all her overtures. Then, of a sudden, a disquieting thought came
to her. "But oh, Eleanor," she said aghast, "can't you see that she will
think that it is I, her real niece, who has been so rude to her? Oh,
Eleanor, that is just as bad as, as----"

"As if she had fallen in love with me," said Eleanor, bursting out
laughing. "Oh, Margaret, how transparent you are! I wonder you have been
able to deceive all the Danvers family so long. But I must confess that I
never thought how very unfavourably I was impressing your aunt with you.
Well, well, it can't be helped now. You will put matters straight some
day."

"She reminded me so much of some one," said Margaret, pursuing her own
train of thought; "but I cannot think of whom. And that is curious
because I have seen so few people in my life, that I ought to remember
whom it is that she resembles without any difficulty. It was her eyes
that puzzled me most. Such beautiful eyes they are. And I am sure I know
some one else who has eyes like them."

Eleanor glanced at Margaret and then began to laugh.

"Of course you do," she said, "and so do I. You see that person every
time you look in the glass. It is you yourself who have Lady Strangways'
eyes, my dear Margaret."

CHAPTER XIII

HILARY TURNS DETECTIVE

"Eleanor," said Hilary, coming into the hall one afternoon with a couple
of books in her hand, "if you are going out I want you to go to Smith's,
please, and change these two library books for me."

It had been raining all day, and though the rain had now changed to a
slight drizzle a thick mist creeping on from the sea had already blotted
out the downs, and was hanging like a low cloud over the town. It was as
cheerless an afternoon as could well be imagined, and Margaret who,
suffering from a bad cold in her head, had not been out for a couple
of days, hesitated a moment before replying. But the request was couched
in such a peremptory tone that she did not quite like to refuse it. After
all, since the children had gone away she was doing absolutely nothing in
return for her board and lodging, and, since Hilary had forgotten that
she was nursing a cold, it would have seemed ungracious to remind her of
the fact.

But Hilary had not forgotten Margaret's cold. Had it been ten times as
bad, however, she would still have despatched her on this errand. For the
long-awaited, careful