Still she made no response, for her heart was away in a most unromantic-looking hut in the infantry lines at Aldershot, where, in fancy, she saw a handsome young fellow, his dark hair cropped close, his skin almost olive in tint, and smooth as a girl's, dark eyes and straight black eyebrows with thick lashes, a heavy moustache, and altogether with a dark manly beauty about him that would have become the costume of Titian or Velasquez, like the cavalier brothers in the portraits at Chilcote. Through the large square entrance-hall of Cadbury Court, which was panelled with oak, and hung round above the panelling with the old family portraits of former proprietors, and had tall jars of curiously painted china standing in the deep old window bays, with a great lantern of stained glass shining overhead, they were ushered into the magnificent drawing-room, where Lord Cadbury, in evening costume, hobbled from an easy chair to receive them with no small _empressement_, for, though his age of ardour was past, he had not survived that of covetousness; and among other things now coveted was Alison, whom vanity prompted him to seek that he might exhibit her to society as a conquest. Alison's drapery seemed to have a soft sweep in it; she held her fair head high; a scornful curl hovered on her lip, and yet she seemed a fragile thing to have so haughty a spirit. She wore again--for, poor girl, her wardrobe was most limited--the lustreless silk with its rare old lace, and, though harassed, she looked charming in her pale beauty, while almost destitute of ornaments, save a few silver bangles on her slender wrists, for the family jewels--especially the Essilmont diamonds--were all things of the past, and had long since found their way to shop windows in Bond Street; but she wore at her neck a little circular brooch of snow-white pearls from the Ythan, near Ellon. The grandeur and luxury which surrounded the _parvenu_ lord at times irritated Sir Ranald curiously, though from sheer desperation and selfishness he longed for the hour when his daughter should share them; thus he was sometimes prompted to say sharp--almost sneering--things to his prospective son-in-law. 'My old and infernal foe--(pardon me, Miss Cheyne)--is with me again,' said Cadbury, as he hobbled back to his seat. 'Who--what?' asked Sir Ranald. 'The gout--they say it comes with ease and money.' 'With years too, Cadbury--one can't have everything as they would wish it,' replied Sir Ranald, with a gush of ill-humour; 'all men, we are told, "are on the road which begins with the cradle and ends with the grave; and, in some instances, the world would be better were the distance between the two shorter."'