I started and looked in the direction from which the voice--a sweet, childish treble--came. Seated demurely in the centre of a large armchair, with tumbled hair, and a book upon her lap, was a very young lady. Her clear blue eyes were fixed calmly but inquiringly upon me, as though expecting an immediate answer, and there was a slight frown upon her forehead. Altogether, for such a diminutive maiden, she appeared rather formidable. "I didn't know that you were there," I said, in explanation of my start. "My name is Morton--Philip Morton." She looked me over gravely and critically, and succeeded in making me feel uncomfortable. Apparently, however, the examination ended in my favour, for the frown disappeared and she closed her book. "Philip is pretty," she said condescendingly. "I don't think much of Morton. I rather like Philip, though." "I--I'm glad of that," I answered lamely. It was very ridiculous, but I could think of nothing else to say. I wanted to say something brilliant, but it wouldn't come; so I stood still and looked at her and got rather red in the face. "Do you know who I am?" she asked. "Haven't the least idea," I admitted. She leaned her small, delicate head upon her hand and began swaying her feet slowly backwards and forwards. "I am Lady Beatrice Cecilia--my mother is Lady Silchester," she said. "Do you think it is a pretty name?" "Very," I answered, biting my lip; "much prettier than mine." "Do you know, I think you are a nice boy!" she proceeded. "I rather like you." "I'm so glad!" I answered, feeling unreasonably delighted. "I'm sure that I like you," I added fervently. "It's very good of you to say so, when you've only just seen me," she remarked; "but you can't be quite sure. You don't know anything about me, you see. I might be dreadfully disagreeable." "But I'm sure you're not," I answered, feeling that I was getting on. She was good enough to seem pleased at my confidence; but she made no further remark for a minute or two, during which I racked my brains in vain for some effective remark, with my eyes fixed upon her. She certainly made a very charming picture, curled up in the great black oak chair, with the firelight playing upon her ruddy golden hair and glistening in her bright eyes. "You've been reading, haven't you?" I asked, pointing to the book which lay in her lap. "It's not a nice book at all!" she said decidedly. "I don't like any of the books here. Oh!" I turned round quickly, for I saw that she was looking behind me. Standing on the threshold of his inner room was the tall, dark figure of Mr. Ravenor, handsomer than ever, it seemed to me, in his plain evening dress. Slowly he advanced out of the shadows, with a faint smile upon his pale face, and laid his hand upon her shoulder, looking first at my little hostess and then at me.