At this moment the door was pushed open slightly, and through the opening appeared a rosy face, brown curls, and a pair of dark eyes which looked with curiosity at the two gentlemen. "Ah, Charlie," said the doctor, "is that you? Come in and say how d'ye do to the gentleman that fished you out of the water yesterday." Little Charlie Herbert boldly advanced, and standing before Mr. Armstrong held out his chubby hand and said, "Thank 'oo for saving me from being drowned." Edward lifted the boy on his knee and kissed him, while the doctor asked-- "Who sent you here, Charlie?" "Mrs. Lake," he replied, "and I've said what she told me to say to the gentleman." The doctor smiled as he rose, and shaking hands with his friend he said-- "I must leave you now to pay my visit upstairs. Edward, keep the boy here for awhile; you cannot have better company." CHAPTER III. A SOCIAL DILEMMA. While Edward Armstrong was becoming better acquainted with the little nephew of Maria St. Clair, Dr. Anson was attempting the cure of a disease far more difficult to subdue than any in the whole catalogue of the various "ills which flesh is heir to"--a mental disease called pride. He found his patient in a fair way for complete recovery. Her restless anxiety to thank the strange gentleman who had saved her, had made her mother give way to her wish to be dressed, and she now sat in an easy-chair, looking pale certainly, but apparently suffering only from exhaustion. "Up and dressed? upon my word!" said Dr. Anson. "I was not prepared for such a speedy recovery as this." "I feel almost as well as ever, doctor," she said, "only a little weak and tired; but I cannot rest till mamma and all of us have thanked the gentleman who saved me and little Charlie. Mrs. Lake says he is quite well this morning, and talks of going back to London to-morrow, so if we are to see him and thank him personally, it must be to-day." "All right, my dear," said the doctor; "there will be no difficulty in asking my friend Mr. Edward Armstrong to visit you." "Your friend, Dr. Anson?" exclaimed Mrs. St. Clair, in surprise; "have you known him long?" "Almost from his boyhood, and a more intelligent, well-informed man I have seldom met with. I was not, however, aware till now that he possessed courage and daring in addition to his other good qualities." "But who is he?" was the next question. "The son, indeed the only child, of Farmer Armstrong, who owns Meadow Farm, about two miles from Basingstoke. The farm has belonged to Armstrong's ancestors for nearly two hundred years. The old gentleman has recently lost his wife, and the son came from London a few weeks ago to be present at his mother's funeral." "Young Mr. Armstrong resides in London, then, I suppose?" remarked Mrs. Herbert. "Yes; his tastes for intellectual pursuits and his education made him dislike farming, and at last his father, with great reluctance, allowed him to commence business in London as a corn-dealer."