She had been reading about the march of the relieving column towards Etschowe under Lord Chelmsford, and saw Florian's name mentioned in connection with a brilliant scouting exploit of the Mounted Infantry under Captain Hammersley; and a great happiness thrilled her heart, for now she knew that, up to the date given, he was alive and well, and she thought of writing to him, but would he ever get the letter?--she knew nothing of the camp postal arrangements, and feared it might be futile to do so. Moreover, she had an irrepressible dread of Lady Fettercairn, whose bearing to her was as cold as that of Finella was kind and warm. 'Don't you ever wear flowers in your hair, Miss Carlyon?' said the latter, as she regarded with honest admiration the glories of Dulcie's ruddy hair shot with gold. 'No.' 'Why?' 'So few tints go well with my hair: people call it red,' said Dulcie. 'People who are your enemies.' 'I never had an enemy,' said Dulcie simply. 'That I can well believe. Then it must be those who are envious of your loveliness,' added Finella frankly. 'A pink or crimson rose would never do in my hair, Miss Melfort.' 'But a white one would,' said Finella, selecting a creamy white rose from a conservatory vase, and pinning it in Dulcie's hair, giving it a kindly pat as she did so. 'Look, grandmamma; doesn't she look lovely now?' And the frank and impulsive girl would have kissed poor Dulcie but for a cold and somewhat discouraging stare she encountered in the eyes of Lady Fettercairn. 'Somehow, Miss Carlyon,' she whispered after a time, 'I don't get on well with grandmamma. It is my fault, of course: I suppose I am a little wretch!' The friendship of these--though one was a wealthy heiress and the other but a poor companion--grew rapidly apace; both were too warm hearted, too affectionate and impulsive by habit, for it to be otherwise, and it enabled them to pass hours together--though young girls, like older ones, dearly love a little gossip of their own kind--without any sense of embarrassment or weariness; for ere long it came to pass that they shared their mutual confidence; and, as we shall show, Finella came to speak of Vivian Hammersley to Dulcie, and the latter to her of Florian. But there was something in Dulcie's sweet soft face that made people older than Finella confide to her their troubles and difficulties, for she was quick to sympathise with and to understand all kinds of grief and sorrow. One evening as they walked together on the terrace, and tossed biscuit to a pair of stately long-necked swans, the white plumage of which gleamed like snow in the setting sun as they swam gently to and fro in an ornamental pond (a portion of the old moat) that lay in front of the house, Dulcie said, with tears of gratitude glittering in her blue eyes--