To the greetings with which she was received Serena responded formally. It happened that her attire was to-day even more careless than usual, for, the weather being wet and cold, she had just thrown a cloak over the frock in which she lounged at home, and driven out in a cab with the thought of stepping directly into Ivy's sanctum. So far from this, she found herself under the scrutiny of two well-dressed men, whose faces, however courteous, manifested the signature of a critical spirit. The elder Mr. Glazzard was bald, wrinkled, and of aristocratic bearing; he wore gold-rimmed glasses, which accentuated the keenness of his gaze. The younger man, though altogether less formidable, had a smile which Miss Mumbray instinctively resented; he seemed to be regarding her with some special interest, and it was clear that her costume did not escape mental comment. Ivy did her best to overcome the restraint of the situation, and for a quarter of an hour something like conversation was maintained, but, of a sudden, Miss Mumbray rose. "We will go to my room," said Ivy, regarding her nervously. "Thank you," was the reply, "I mustn't stay longer to-day." "Oh, why not? But indeed you must come for a moment; I have something to show you." Serena took leave of the gentlemen, and with show of reluctance suffered herself to be led to the familiar retreat. "I'm afraid I have displeased you," Ivy addressed her, when the door was closed. "I ought to have asked your permission." "It doesn't matter, dear--not a bit. But I wasn't quite in the humour for--for that kind of thing. I came here for quietness, as I always do." "Do forgive me! I thought--to tell the truth, it was my uncle--I had spoken of you to him, and he said he should so much like to meet you." "It really doesn't matter; but I look rather like the woman who comes to buy old dresses, don't I?" Ivy laughed. "Of course not!" "And what if I do?" exclaimed the other, seating herself by the fire. "I don't know that I've any claim to look better than Mrs. Moss. I suppose she and I are about on a level in understanding and education, if the truth were told. Your uncle would see that, of course." "Now, don't--don't!" pleaded Ivy, bending over the chair and stroking her friend's shoulder. "It's so wrong of you, dear. My father and Uncle Eustace are both quite capable of judging you rightly." "What did you tell him about me--your uncle?" asked Serena, pettishly. "That you were my friend, and that we read together"---- "Oh, of course! What else?" Ivy faltered. "I explained who you were." "That I had a ridiculous name, and was the daughter of silly people!" "Oh, it _is_ unkind of you!" "Well, and what else? I insist on knowing, Ivy." "Indeed, I didn't say one word that you mightn't have heard yourself. I think you can believe me, dear?"