"Oh, I think it is a very great compliment, Mr. Arkel." The young man--he was a handsome, fair-haired young fellow in a grey tweed suit--looked at her with a quizzical expression. "You know my name, and I know yours. I think we can dispense with further formalities under the circumstances--or perhaps you will look after the social observances, Dicky, and introduce me to this lady." Dicky did so most gravely. "Miss Crane, this is Uncle Barton's nephew, Cousin Gerald; Cousin Gerald, this is my new governess, Miss Crane." Gerald Arkel jumped up, swung off his cap, and made a bow. There was a very keen admiration in his eye as he looked at Miriam. Indeed, so marked was his stare that she became a trifle uneasy, the more so when he observed that her face was familiar. "Surely I have seen you before," he said with a puzzled look. "Oh, no," Miriam forced herself to say. "I don't think so. Are you staying in Lesser Thorpe?" she asked hurriedly, to divert his attention. "Yes, with my uncle at the Manor House. He came out with me this morning. I left him fossiking about one of his fences. He'll be here soon." A chuckle close at hand revealed that Mr. Barton was not only near at hand, but had been close enough to hear the entire conversation. He looked inquisitively from Miriam to his nephew. Gerald took no notice of his scrutiny, but Miriam coloured up, and lifting Dicky from her lap, rose to meet the old man. She led him aside ostensibly to show him the scene of the disaster, but in reality to ask him a question. "Why do you look at me so, Mr. Barton? Is that--is that--" "Yes!" Mr. Barton chuckled in his hateful manner. "Yes, that is the man--now you know." CHAPTER III. POVERTY HALL.