He was presently pounced on by Mrs. Rawlinson, a fair, flushed beauty of two-and-forty with a daughter of fifteen. People with a turn for compliment always supposed that this daughter was Mrs. Rawlinson's sister, and when that assumption was negatived there had once been a prompt reply, "Oh, your _step_-daughter you mean!" (The man who invented that last refinement of politeness was welcome to dine at the Rawlinsons' whenever he liked, and, the dinners being good, he was to be met there about twice a week.) She came down upon Mr. Thorne like a bright blue avalanche. "Ah!" she said, having shaken hands with him, "_I_ saw what you were doing. Now, do you agree with Mr. Horace Thorne in his taste? Oh, it's no use denying it: I saw you were looking at the beautiful Miss Blake." "It is very possible," Mr. Thorne replied, "only I didn't know of her existence." "Oh, how severe you are! I suppose you mean you don't admire that style? Well, now you mention it, perhaps--" "I simply mean what I say. I was not aware that there was a Miss Blake on the ground to-day." "Well, I _am_ surprised! You _are_ in the dark! Do you see those tall girls in black and white, close by their mother, that fine woman in green?" "Perfectly. And which is the beautiful Miss Blake?" "Oh!" with a little giggle. "Fancy! _Which_ is the beautiful Miss Blake? Why, the elder one, of course: there! she is just looking round." Mr. Thorne put up his eye-glass. "Indeed!" he said; "and who may Miss Blake be?" "They have come to that pretty white house where old Miss Hayward lived. Mr. Blake was a relation of hers, and she left it to him. He has some sort of business in London--very rich, they say, and all the young men are after the daughters." "Probably the daughters haven't the same opinion of the young men of the present day that I have," said Mr. Thorne; "so I needn't pity them." "Fancy your not knowing anything about them! I _am_ surprised!" Mrs. Rawlinson repeated. "Such friends of Mr. Horace Thorne's, too! Ah, by the way, you must mind what you say about the young men who are after them. He's quite a favorite there, I'm told." "Perhaps Horace told you," the old gentleman suggested with a quiet smile: "the news sounds as if it might come from that authority." "Oh, no: I think not. Any one in Fordborough could tell you all about it. I suppose this summer--But, dear me! here am I rattling on: perhaps I am letting secrets out." "Not much of a secret if it is Fordborough talk," said Mr. Thorne blandly. But something in the expression of his eyes made Mrs. Rawlinson feel that she was on dangerous ground, and at any rate she had said enough. She hurried off to greet a friend she saw in the distance. Mr. Thorne was speedily joined by a neighboring landowner. "I didn't know I should see you here to-day," he said to the newcomer. "I heard you were laid up." Mr. Garnett cursed his gout, but declared himself better.