"That's all right," he responded cheerfully. "Come in just about this time. And I've found a jolly little A.B.C. shop where we can get some lunch to-day: second turning to the right, in the corner--I should like you to be able to tell me, quite quietly, why you find it necessary to refuse me. I think that's only fair to you." "And I think," said Kitty emphatically, "that you possess the concentrated cheek--I am sorry there is no stronger word--of the whole British Army; and I decline your invitation." She kept him waiting at the A.B.C. shop for a good quarter of an hour. * * * * * In the afternoon Kitty presented herself at 209, Belgrave Square, and was shown into what a house-agent would call "the magnificent and spacious salon." Lady Hawborough was seated in a capacious chair, knitting for dear life; on a small table beside her was an orderly disorder of blue books, reports of charitable societies, vegetarian tracts, and the debris of her morning's correspondence. She received Kitty with more than graciousness; for her ladyship, notwithstanding her crankiness, was the owner of that organ the possession of which we are led to believe atones for all minor faults, not to say crimes--a "good heart." Besides, she had been immensely taken with Kitty, and admired genuinely the pluck and readiness which the girl had displayed in the rescue of the puppy: of course, Lady Hawborough was a prominent member of the S.P.C.A. She gave Kitty some tea, patted her hand several times, and proceeded to put her through a kindly, but searching, catechism; and, before tea was over, had obtained sufficient information respecting Kitty's life to convince her that the girl was a fitting object of her ladyship's benevolence. It is true that, every now and then, Kitty caught a glimpse of the somewhat masterful spirit which her ladyship displayed in her favourite occupation of ordering the lives of all who came in contact with her; but Kitty was not so stupid as to fail to recognise the presence of the aforesaid good heart, or not to credit the old lady with the amiable intention which smiled behind the mask of tyranny. [Illustration] "She's not at all a bad sort," Kitty informed her father on her return home. "Oh, I daresay she's fond of interfering and all that; but she can't interfere with me; I'm not her relation--I was going to say 'Thank goodness,' but I really do like her, Dad. She's coming to see some of your pictures some day." "Oh, my great aunt!" groaned Mr. Thorold, who, like a true artist, had a loathing for the necessary, but sometimes maddening, art patron. The drawing for the _Long Acre Magazine_ being duly finished, Mr. Thorold began on the more important battle-piece.