A girl of eighteen or nineteen, dressed in the familiar costume of Undine. A figure, tall, full of a royal dignity and repose, like that of a statue of Diana. A face surrounded by a radiant glory of sun-bright hair, recalling those pure saints and martyrs which glow serenely mild from the dim walls of old Italian or Spanish cathedrals. Many faults might be found with that face, yet it was one that gained in attraction at every glance. The young girl advanced so rapidly down the rooms that she was standing within a few feet of the two gentlemen before she could plan a swift retreat. A vivid, painful blush overspread her face, and she stood as if either transformed into some beautiful sculptured image, or absolutely unable to decide which would be the worst of evils--to remain or to fly. She turned the full luster of her translucent eyes upon Captain Desfrayne, as some lovely wild creature of the forest might gaze dismayed at the sight of a hunter, and then recoiled. Lady Quaintree rose, and quickly moved a few steps, as if to intercept her, and said: “My dear, don’t run away. Frank Amberley knows all about the tableau for which you are obliged to prepare. I thought you would have come down before to let me see how the dress suited; but I suppose that abominable Lagrange has been late, as usual. My dear Lois, I am dying with curiosity. These gentlemen--Captain Desfrayne and Mr. Frank Amberley--have come to tell you some wonderful piece of business, and I want to know what it is as soon as possible. Pray stop. You will only lose time if you go to change your dress.” “I beseech you, madam, let me go,” pleaded Lois Turquand, troubled by her unforeseen, embarrassing situation--strangely troubled by the steadfast gaze which Paul Desfrayne, in spite of himself, fixed upon her. “Nonsense! You must hear what they have to say. I feel puzzled, and anxious to know.” Lois vainly tried to avoid that singular, inexplicable look, which seemed to master her. Had she not been so suddenly taken at a disadvantage, she would have repelled it with displeasure. As it was, she had a curious sense of being mesmerized. She ceased to urge her entreaty for permission to depart, and stood motionless, though her color fluctuated every instant. CHAPTER IV. LOIS TURQUAND’S ALTERED FORTUNE. Frank Amberley looked at Captain Desfrayne, who drew back several steps--for neither had seated himself, although Lady Quaintree had signed to them to do so. It was evident that Captain Desfrayne would not take the initiative, so Frank Amberley was obliged to explain--more to Lady Quaintree than to her protégée--that Miss Turquand had been left heiress to a fortune of one hundred and thirty thousand pounds.