As she kissed Brownie again at parting, Lady Dunforth put into her hands a large velvet case. “I do not know what you may have already, dear,” she said, “but I like a bride to wear pearls. Please accept these, with my love.” Brownie touched the spring, and her lovely face flushed with pleasure as the cover flew back. Upon their blue velvet cushion there lay a most exquisite and complete set of pearls in the loveliest design—necklace, bracelets, earrings, with a beautiful spray for the hair. Adrian was very much gratified at this token of remembrance, and added his thanks to his wife’s. “I do not know how soon we shall return to Dunforth Castle, but I wish you might come to West Malling before very long,” Lady Dunforth said, wistfully, when she went away, but she did not invite them to call upon her while she remained in town. She knew it would not do. Delicately as she had worded the sentence, Brownie felt it with a sudden pain, and knew that no invitation was conveyed in the words, and her brow grew troubled and her face very grave when they were alone again. Adrian at once divined the cause, and knew that he must explain his position; he could not keep it from her longer. “My Brownie is looking troubled; were you not pleased with Lady Dunforth?” he asked, drawing her into his arms. “Oh, yes. I think she is very lovely; but, Adrian, I never dreamed that you were anything to Lord Dunforth.” “You never asked me, did you?” he asked, with mock gravity. “Of course not; I did not like to be questioning you as to your ancestry; I supposed you would tell me all in good time of your own accord. I have heard that you were connected with a titled family, but never supposed you were a descendant of his, and would occupy such a high position,” she said, looking rather uneasy. “Then it can never be said that you schemed for me on that account,” he replied, with twinkling eyes and an amused smile, “while I, on the other hand, have had the advantage of you all along. I have known ever since the day I first saw you that you were a descendant of royalty.” Brownie lifted her head, and gave him a perplexed look. “What do you mean?” she asked. “I mean,” and he laughed, mischievously, “that I have heard Miss Douglas was very proud of having descended from Queen Margaret Tudor. Have you the genealogical tree, Brownie?” “Poor auntie! But you are laughing at me, and who told you all this?” “My friend Gordon, of course; so you see, I took care to find out all about you before I made any advances.” She smiled at his pleasantry, but she was not to be diverted from the subject which occupied her thoughts. “But—but, Adrian, why did Lady Dunforth speak in just the way she did? And why did not his lordship call with her? It would have been the right thing to do,” and she searched his face with her clear eyes.