Cadbury, whose head was stooped towards her, erected it, lest her glance might be falling on the little bald patch which he was so terribly conscious of being apparent now, and he shivered with annoyance, and felt wrathful at the girl he was so desirous of pleasing. 'Will you sing for me?' said he, after a pause, 'I am so fond of music.' 'What shall I sing?' asked Alison, seating herself at the piano, and glad to change the tenor of a conversation in which she felt herself ungracious. 'One of your Scottish--one of your national songs.' '"Auld Robin Gray?"' she asked, mischievously. 'No, anything but _that_. I am sick of it.' She thought for a moment, and then dashed into another, of which one verse will suffice, and which was quite as objectionable to his lordship, though he did not understand it all. 'There's auld Robin Morris that dwells in yonder glen, He's the king o' a' guid fellows and choice o' auld men, He has gold in his coffers, he has oxen and kine, And one bonnie lassie--his darling and mine.' 'It is a man's song,' said Alison, when she had concluded the five verses, and continued to idle over the keys. 'And I suppose auld Robin Morris might be twin brother to the other Robin,' said Cadbury, with ill-concealed annoyance, as he conceived there was more in the song than his ear detected. 'It only tells the old story, my lord--the hopeless love of a handsome young fellow for a rich and lovely girl--an old man's pride and avarice standing in the way--' said Alison, with a soft smile playing about her lips, and thankful that her father's entrance put an end to a most obnoxious _tête-à-tête_. A few minutes later and Lord Cadbury's carriage was conveying them home, but even then Alison's annoyances did not cease. 'Did Cadbury say anything particular to you, Alison dear, when I was having a nap to-night?' asked Sir Ranald, suddenly breaking a silence that was rather oppressive. 'No, papa.' 'No! Nothing?' 'Nothing of consequence.' 'Did he not propose?' 'Papa, how can you think of such a thing? He is a veritable Grandfather Whitehead.' 'Think of happiness,' said her father, sharply. 'Has wealth aught to do with that?' 'A good deal--if not all. Think of living in a house like that we have just left! Think of presentation days, collar days, at Buckingham Palace, the Park, the Row, the Four-in-Hand Club by the Serpentine--luncheons at Muswell Hill, and so forth!' Alison was silent, but full of sad and bitter thoughts. Around her--or within her reach--she knew were gaieties in which she could have no part--the opera, the Row, the Queen's drawing-room, to which, notwithstanding her real social position, she could no more have access (without the aid of a most trustful milliner), than the daughter of a clown. But she did not repine, as her father did, that she should be debarred from all these sights and circles, so she replied,