"That seems a sweet lady staying at the bungalow. Miss Carrington, I hear, her name is. She comes from London, and Mrs. Holt says she's very musical. I think I shall have to call." Avelyn went on eating beef and potatoes with a jumping heart but outward composure. It had not struck her that it was possible to pay social calls on Dante Gabriel Rossetti heroines. What if she were to meet the Lavender Lady at close quarters? Even speak to her? The idea seemed to need preparation. Mrs. Watson had quite made up her mind. "Daphne and I will go on Tuesday," she said. It was of course appropriate that Daphne, being the eldest, should go, but Avelyn envied her all the same. When the momentous afternoon arrived she enquired anxiously what her sister was going to wear. It seemed vitally important that the family should make a good impression. "You'll put on your grey coat and skirt, won't you?" she said beseechingly. "I don't think I will. I really don't want to go at all," yawned Daphne. Not want to go! Avelyn could hardly believe it. She stared at Daphne incredulously. "Don't you feel well?" she asked. "Oh yes! it isn't that, but I hate paying calls, and I promised the boys to walk to Fulverton. Captain Harper said he'd meet us and show us a squirrel's nest he's found. Suppose you go and call with Mother instead of me?" Avelyn gasped. Such unselfishness took away her breath. "Do you really mean you'll let me go instead of you?" "With all the pleasure in life, child, if you want to." Daphne's manner was airy and elder-sisterly. "Of course it's nothing to me whether we meet Captain Harper or not, only he made rather a point about it, and perhaps it would seem--well, rude, if I let the boys go without me. He's been very kind to David and Tony, and one doesn't like to hurt his feelings." Two things swept across Avelyn's bewildered consciousness: first, that Daphne was growing up--growing up most suddenly and unmistakably; and secondly, that she had resigned her privilege, as elder daughter, to call on the Lavender Lady. The first would have to be considered at leisure, in all its bearings and side issues; the second was for the moment uppermost. "Go and ask Mother what you're to put on," said Daphne, as if the whole question of the exchange were settled. It was an outwardly calm and self-possessed, but inwardly much-agitated Avelyn who entered, in her mother's wake, into the little drawing-room at the bungalow. One comprehensive glance took in the fact that the room was utterly different from what it had been during the curate's occupation. There were books and flowers, and other pretty things about. The general tone had changed from commonplace to artistic. On the window-sill lay a half-finished sketch of the village. There was music on the open piano. But these details faded into secondary consideration, for the Lavender Lady was entering, in the soft heliotrope gown, with a sprig of wallflower pinned into the lace fichu.