Gabrielle bursts out laughing, the horrified expression of her stepmother’s face strikes her as so ludicrous, and her laugh is so infectious that Trixy joins in. But Lady Beranger’s unmistakable wrath nips the laughter in the bud, and after an instant, Gabrielle asks in rather a constrained voice: “If you intend to nestle all day on those cushions, I really must go out, Trixy.” “Trixy will remain at home. I especially request it,” decrees her mother. “But I have no wish to see that horrid Mr. Stubbs,” Trixy murmurs petulantly. “I’ll be nasty to him if I am made to see him!” “Trixy!” “I promised Lord Delaval to work him a pair of slippers and I must go and choose the crewels,” Trixy answers determinedly. “And besides, Mr. Hamilton and one or two of the Irish Fusiliers are going with Gabrielle and me to see the trysting well in Archer’s Wood.” “And one admirer at home is not half so amusing as half-a-dozen outside, is he, Trixy?” says incorrigible Gabrielle. “I wish you wouldn’t amuse yourself at my expense always, Gabrielle! If you wish to know the truth, I do not want to go out to see all those men so much as I want to shop. I must have a new dress for the Annesleighs’ ball on Monday, and I cannot trust you to order it. You haven’t a bit of artistic taste and no eye for colours. In fact, your ideas are so wretchedly _bizarre_.” “Thanks! I never did go in for dress,” Gabrielle answers flippantly. “You see beauty unadorned is adorned the most--but dolls are always prettier for the frocks they have on.” “You can go with me in the carriage to Stallard’s and order the dress, Trixy--it will be much cooler, and less likely to hurt your complexion--after Mr. Stubbs’ visit,” Lady Beranger says suavely, but Trixy suddenly remembering the trip to Archer’s Wood, and her host of admirers, frowns. “We might see about that Honiton flounce you set your heart on the other day. It would be lovely on a pale blue merv. Stallard does not mind his account running on, so you had better get some tea roses to wear with it,” Lady Beranger goes on carelessly, but noting that Trixy’s eyes sparkle at the fine raiment in perspective. “And now, child, run up and change that tumbled muslin for your new mauve costume, or I shall not indulge you with the dress.” Trixy yields, and rising lazily, saunters out of the room. When she is fairly gone, Lady Beranger leans back in her gold-backed fauteuil, and partially closes her fine eyes. “How thankful I shall be to get Trixy off my hands. She is so dreadfully extravagant and so eaten up with vanity. Nothing short of pale blue merv, and the Honiton, which costs about three guineas a yard (Stallard sticks it on so for credit, always), would have made her see Stubbs to-day, and yet, he is a ----” “Millionaire,” she was going to say, when she remembers Gabrielle’s presence.