* * * * * "All alone!--with that gentle face--and that terrible amount of conscience--hard lines!" thought Doris, as she reflected on her visitor. "I felt a black imp beside her!" All the same, the letter which Mrs. Meadows received by the following morning's post was not at all calculated to melt the "black imp" further. Arthur wrote in a great hurry to beg that she would not go on with their Welsh plans--for the moment. Lady D---- has insisted on my going on a short yachting cruise with her and Miss Field, the week after next. She wants to show me the West Coast, and they have a small cottage in the Shetlands where we should stay a night or two and watch the sea-birds. It _may_ keep me away another week or fortnight, but you won't mind, dear, will you? I am getting famously rested, and really the house is very agreeable. In these surroundings Lady Dunstable is less of the _bas-bleu_, and more of the woman. You _must_ make up your mind to come another year! You would soon get over your prejudice and make friends with her. She looks after us all--she talks brilliantly--and I haven't seen her rude to anybody since I arrived. There are some very nice people here, and altogether I am enjoying it. Don't you work too hard--and don't let the servants harry you. Post just going. Good night! Another week or fortnight!--five weeks, or nearly, altogether. Doris was sorely wounded. She went to look at herself in the mirror over the chimney-piece. Was she not thin and haggard for want of rest and holiday? Would not the summer weather be all done by the time Arthur graciously condescended to come back to her? Were there not dark lines under her eyes, and was she not feeling a limp and wretched creature, unfit for any exertion? What was wrong with her? She hated her drawing--she hated everything. And there was Arthur, proposing to go yachting with Lady Dunstable!--while she might toil and moil--all alone--in this August London! The tears rushed into her eyes. Her pride only just saved her from a childish fit of crying.