"How nice," Hazel exclaimed, in genuine pleasure; "and it will do you good, Uncle Percival." "Humph," was his gruff response, more for the sake of rendering less astonishing the unusual order to the servant, who now appeared—to seem at least in some way his ordinary self—than that he felt any displeasure in the enterprise. Hazel’s undisguised delight in the prospect of a drive in his, a cross-grained old man’s company, warmed his heart, till he felt almost ashamed of a childlike eagerness to "be off." With very slight assistance from Thomas, Mr. Desborough reached the carriage step, where he turned, and with courtly politeness helped the lady to be seated. Hazel named the address in Baker Street, and away they drove. "How well a top hat suits you," Hazel said, eyeing her august relative in frank admiration. "You look like an old Duke." "Pshaw," he returned, much pleased, and furtively twisting his moustache, "the fitter company then for a little princess like yourself," he added, with old-fashioned gallantry. Hazel glanced in naïve amazement at her simple cotton gown. "A princess," she said amusedly, "dressed in stuff that cost sixpence-three-farthings a yard." "No one would notice your dress with——" he ended abruptly and changed the subject. "With that face," he had been on the point of adding, but he disapproved of such outspoken compliments, and was afraid of making the girl vain. One of the chief charms of Hazel’s unusual beauty was her complete unconsciousness of it—a charm that Percival Desborough fully appreciated. Arrived at the lodging-house, Hazel made her way in alone. "I shall not keep you long," she told her companion, "but I have made up my mind to speak to the landlady privately." "I am Miss Le Mesurier," she announced to Mrs. Walters, who herself opened to Hazel. "The young gentlemen’s sister, Miss, I presume?" the woman inquired respectfully. Indeed the sight of the liveried servants and handsome bays quite awed her, and set her wishing that she had sent Caroline, despite her dirty working apron, to open the door, instead of doing that service herself. "Yes, and I should like to see their rooms, if you please," Hazel returned, "and I have a letter that I wish to leave on Mr. Edward’s table." "Certainly Miss, certainly," the landlady replied soothingly, manifestly anxious to assure the visitor that nothing could be more reasonable. She led the way upstairs. "This is the sitting-room, Miss," Mrs. Walters informed her, throwing open the first door on a landing above, "and that is Mr. Gerald’s room opening out of it—Mr. Edward sleeps upstairs, as did Mr. Hugh before he left."