“Yes, I am much better than when I first came to West Malling,” Brownie admitted, with a conscious blush. “Yes, the trip to the castle did you much good, undoubtedly,” persisted her ladyship, nodding and chuckling knowingly. “It was a change, you know.” “Yes, yes; that’s it. Young folks need change. I was a fool not to think of it before. I might have known that a young, bright thing like you would droop and pine, hived up with a croning old owl like me for company.” “Pray, dear Lady Ruxley, do not talk so!” Brownie interrupted, eagerly, and much distressed at her words. “Indeed, I have been very happy with you—much more so than I was during the five months previous.” “I know—I know all about it. You’re plucky, and you will not own it to me. But you’ve been lonely and sad. I’ve got eyes, and I can see for myself. You went away from here pale, sad and quiet; you come back rosy, happy, almost gay, and the life, music, and company up yonder was what you needed, and you shall have some more of it. I like to see folks bright and chipper about me.” Brownie felt more and more guilty. But her next words filled her with still deeper dismay. “They’ve got a houseful of company, as usual, up at the Hall, and we go there, too, to-morrow, to stop a few days.” “Indeed, Lady Ruxley, I hope you are not going on my account. I do not desire or need company, and I should really prefer to remain quietly here,” she said, in distress. “Oh! I’ve got eyes—good ones, too, if they are old; besides, Lady Randal desires it. She is getting up a _soirée_, and desires your services as musician. She sent a note to-day, asking me.” “But—but you are not well. Really, I think it would be best for neither of us to go.” “Oh, I’m all right, and I’ve given Minnett orders to have everything in readiness by to-morrow at ten. You will please be ready by that time, too,” returned her ladyship, somewhat impatiently, who thought the young girl hesitated about going only on her account. That settled it, of course. Brownie could not refuse point-blank to go, but her heart grew faint within her at the thought of meeting the Coolidges, and particularly under an assumed name. Of course, she could not avoid meeting them, and doubtless they would reveal all the past to both Lady Randal and Lady Ruxley. They would tell their story about the jewels, and of that scene with Wilbur, and the way she had left their employ. Yet what need had she to fear Isabel Coolidge, or, indeed, any one, now that she had Adrian to lean upon and protect her? With this brighter thought in her mind, she sought her own room to prepare for her absence and the approaching gayeties, which, after all, she began to anticipate with something of pleasure and interest. Meanwhile, a very different scene was being enacted at Dunforth Castle. As soon as Lady Ruxley’s carriage was driven from sight, Adrian Dredmond turned to his grandfather, saying, gravely: “Can I have a private interview with you, sir?”