Late one afternoon he called on this lady by appointment. Angel was with him when he drove up to the Rattrays' neat bungalow, which stood back from the road in a small enclosure, full of pretty shrubs and flowering trees. It had two gates, both opening into the principal thoroughfare in Ramghur. "I'm going in here, Angel," announced her cousin. "I won't be more than ten minutes, and you can wait in the cart." "All right," she assented, but tendering two eager hands; "may I hold the reins?" "Very well; but only for show, mind," he said as he relinquished them. "Promise me you won't attempt to drive." "Yes, I'll promise," she assented reluctantly, for she had entertained a glorious vision of trotting out at one gate, and whirling in at the other. With a brief order to the syce to remain at Sally's head, Gascoigne went indoors. He had come to decide finally the choice of school for Angel. Mrs. Rattray could hardly restrain a smile, as she sat _vis-à-vis_ to this good-looking young bachelor, who, with his elbows on the table and his hands in his hair, was anxiously comparing two prospectuses. It was really astonishing how soon he had accommodated himself to his novel situation. "I must say it is very good of you to adopt——" "Don't!" he protested, raising his hand. "Please, Mrs. Rattray—every second person I meet tells me the same thing—it is not." "Very well," she interrupted; "then I will tell you something you have not heard yet. I think you are rashly adventurous." "I don't see that at all," he replied. "You will find that Angela requires a strong hand—she is not the least like any child I've ever known. I've not known many intimately—it is true. She will soon pick up an education at home, for she is quick and bright; but she has another education to forget, the education she has acquired out here from servants." "Oh, she's bound to forget that," said her cousin. "Is she?" rejoined the lady doubtfully; "I hope so. Now I wonder if you even faintly realise what you have undertaken?" "I am not sure that I have come down to the bedrock of my responsibilities—but I will do my best." "Of course, I know that," said the lady. "But pray bear in mind that it is not a stray pony or a lost dog to whom you are playing Providence. You have assumed the charge of a human life, a child with a strange nature, and who will be an extraordinary woman some day." "Yes; but at present the woman, thank Heaven, is in the far-away future, and I have only to do with a child." "I hope Angel will never give you reason to regret your generosity." "I'm sure she will be all right. You make far too much of the business. I'm only sending my poor cousin's little orphan to school. She will turn out well, if she falls into good hands," and here he held up several letters and said: "It is for you to choose to whose keeping I entrust her."