"How very strange! Then is the girl you talk so much about Mrs. Norman's daughter?" "Yes; and she has treated her abominably. She hardly ever sends her any money, and always writes as if she is at her last penny. Fancy! Since Gavine left school, she has only been allowed twelve pounds a year! It's a kitchenmaid's wages when she first goes out. Gavine has two aunts who are not at all well off, and one of them is paralysed; but they have given her a home until her mother can settle down and have her. She has always said she would do it, and now she has taken a cottage here, there's no reason why Gavine should not come to her. Only if she lives with her, I know she'll be perfectly miserable. I'll get her to come to me; that will make her mother feel ashamed of herself." "Oh, Jockie, dear, you must not talk so. She is her mother. If your friend is a nice girl, she must feel attached to her own mother." "So she does. Gavine is an angel. But I know what her life has been—continual disappointments. She's always hoped and longed to live with her mother, and Mrs. Norman won't have her. She likes to pose as a young woman; and Gavine is much handsomer than she is, and wants to do good, and Mrs. Norman hates good people. She hates you, Miss Urquhart. She mentioned your name to Austin. "I'll tell you what she said. 'Do come and deliver me from that poor old Major. He has come down every day for the last week. I feel so sorry for him. It is a great pity he has such an unhappy home. I cannot understand Miss Urquhart; but then I don't know her. She seems to me such a pleasant girl to outsiders, but she does not show much affection to her poor old uncle.' "I flared up, of course. 'Miss Urquhart adores him, and he adores her,' I said. "And then Austin laughed. 'You have got hold of the pig by the wrong ear, Mrs. Norman,' he said. 'The old Major is a confounded bore, but his niece has always been most awfully good to him. I've had the run of the house since I was quite a small boy, so I know.' "Now, don't you think that ought to have squashed her? Not a bit. She looked quite perturbed and sorry. 'Oh, dear! What a dreadful old humbug the Major is!' she said. 'He gave me to understand quite the contrary. I suppose he was wanting to get my pity. Old men love to have a grievance, don't they?' "It was then I said good-bye to them and walked on. Yes, it is war to the knife between us, Miss Urquhart. I feel it in my bones. And, of course, I understand why you want another man to come upon the scene and carry her off. I wish he would." "You take my breath away, Jockie!" Sidney said with a distressed look in her eyes. Jockie's recital had cut her to the quick, and the girl perceived it. She flung her arms round her and kissed her. "Don't look like that! My tongue runs away with me. We won't think any more about her. She isn't worth it. But I shall write and tell Gavine where her mother is." Jockie was as good as her word, and came to tell Sidney the result.