Dr. Hasenclever, and then took them to the
woods of Hammerfest, close by, with which they were charmed. On the
way back to the hotel they met Lady Jane and Miss Royce and the good
Beresford Duff, who all bowed to Barty, and Julia's blue glance
crossed Leah's black one.

"Oh, what a lovely girl!" said Leah to Barty. "What a pity she's so
tall; why, I'm sure she's half a head taller than even I, and they
make _my_ life a burden to me at home because I'm such a giantess!
Who is she? You know her well, I suppose?"

"She's a Miss Julia Royce, a great heiress. Her father's dead; he
was a wealthy Norfolk Squire, and she was his only child."

"Then I suppose she's a very aristocratic person; she looks so, I'm
sure!"

"Very much so indeed," said Barty.

"Dear me! it seems unfair, doesn't it, having everything like that;
no wonder she looks so happy!"

[Illustration: DR. HASENCLEVER AND MRS. BLETCHLEY]

Then they went back to the hotel to lunch; and in the afternoon Mrs.
Bletchley saw the doctor, who gave her a prescription for
spectacles, and said she had nothing to fear; and was charming to
Leah and to Ida, who spoke French so well, and to the pretty and
lively Mrs. Gibson, who lost her heart to him and spoke the most
preposterous French he had ever heard.

He was fond of pretty English women, the good German doctor,
whatever French they spoke.

They were quite an hour there. Meanwhile Barty went to Beresford
Duff's, and found Julia and Lady Jane drinking tea, as usual at that
hour.

"Who are your uncommonly well-dressed friends, Barty?" said Mr.
Duff. "I never met any of them that _I_ can remember."

"Well--they're just from London--the elder lady is a Mrs.
Bletchley."

"Not one of the Berkshire Bletchleys, eh?"

"Oh no--she's the widow of a London solicitor."

"Dear me! And the lovely, tall, black-eyed _damigella_--who's she?"

"She's a Miss Gibson, and her father's a furrier in Cheapside."

"And the pretty girl in blue with the fair hair?"

"She's the sister of a very old friend of mine, Robert Maurice--he's
a wine merchant."

"You don't say so! Why, I took them for people of condition!" said
Mr. Beresford Duff, who was a trifle old-fashioned in his ways of
speech. "Anyhow, they're uncommonly nice to look at."

"Oh yes," said the not too priggishly grammatical Lady Jane;
"nowadays those sort of people dress like duchesses, and think
themselves as good as any one."

"They're good enough for _me_, a