“No, she sent her companion for me. That is Artress, on the other side of the boat. I have never seen Lady Wynde.” Lord Towyn looked his astonishment. “Have you not been home since your father’s marriage, nor since his death, Miss Wynde?” he asked. “No. Papa came once to see me at my school after his marriage, but he did not bring his wife. I have a picture of her which papa sent me. He must have adored her. His letters were full of loving praises of her, and in the last letter he wrote he told me that he desired me to love and obey her as if she were my own mother. His wishes are sacred to me now, and I shall try to love her. Is she very handsome?” “She is considered handsome,” replied Lord Towyn. “She is dark almost to swarthiness, and has a gypsy’s black eyes. Sir Harold almost worshiped her.” “Then she must be good?” Lord Towyn hesitated. He knew little of the handsome Lady Wynde, but he had an instinctive distrust of her. “She must be good,” he answered thoughtfully. “Had she not been good, Sir Harold would not have loved her.” “Ah, yes, I have thought that a hundred times,” said Neva. “I shall try to win her love. She is to stay at Hawkhurst as my personal guardian during my minority, and there can be no indifference between us. It must be peace or war. I intend it shall be peace. You see, Lord Towyn, that I shall be almost completely dependent upon her for society and friendship. I am coming back a stranger to my childhood’s home. Years of absence have estranged me from the friends I knew, and I have no one outside of Hawkhurst to look to, save Mr. Atkins and Sir John Freise.” “And me,” said Lord Towyn earnestly. “I am associated with them, you know. But you will not be so utterly friendless as you think. The old county families will hasten to call upon you, and you can select your own friends among them. The Lady of Hawkhurst will be feted and welcomed, and made much of. Your trouble will soon be that you will have no time to yourself. I desire to add myself to your list of visitors. I am staying this summer at a place of mine on the Kentish coast. But here is the Dover pier straight ahead, Miss Wynde. We have made the voyage in good time, despite the roughness of the Channel.” There was no time for further conversation. The suggestive bowls were being hidden under benches by the late sufferers, and bundles, boxes and bags were being sought after with reviving energies. Artress arose, found her traveling bag and umbrellas, and then sought for her charge. As her gaze encountered Neva’s piquant face upturned to the admiring glances of a handsome young gentleman, she looked shocked and horrified, and her sharp, ashen-hued features became vinegary in their expression. She approached the young lady with unseemly haste, and exclaimed: “Miss Wynde, I am surprised--” “Pardon me,” said Neva, quietly interposing, although her face flushed haughtily, “but I desire to introduce to you, Mrs. Artress, my old friend Lord Towyn.”