“We will not send word we are coming, my dear,” she half-suggested, half-commanded. “It will be most advisable to seize the people who have the care of the place by surprise.” Her ladyship knew nothing of the fact that Mrs. Turquand had once lived at Flore Hall in service. Lois had never heard her mother refer to her girl days, and was equally ignorant with Lady Quaintree that the almost elegant, proud woman she remembered as her mother had originally occupied so obscure and humble a position as lady’s-maid to a country squire’s wife. “We must engage a maid for you, my love,” said Lady Quaintree. “It will be impossible for you to manage without one.” Lois laughed with some gaiety, but did not answer. The journey was easily performed, without adventure. The way was as pleasant as sunny skies, beautiful, constantly changing scenery, and easy transit could render it. On arriving at Holston, in the evening, Lady Quaintree found a carriage waiting at the station, for she had sent intelligence of her advent to some friends in the vicinity, and piqued their curiosity by hints of the beauty and romantic history of a charming young friend she was bringing with her. Not only a carriage, but a very pretty girl waited the arrival of the expected guests. This girl was the daughter of the old friends to whom Lady Quaintree was going to pay what she had called “a flying visit.” She was in the waiting-room, a bare, wooden-benched nook, where her presence seemed like the veriest sunshine in a shady place. She was watching from the window, and ran out on the platform when she saw her old friend alight. A tall, symmetrically formed figure, attired in a coquettish style, a fair, laughing face, enframed in a golden shower of tangled curls, with blue, or, rather, violet eyes, carnation lips, the most dazzlingly white little pearly teeth, small hands, and dainty, arched feet, shod in high-heeled shoes with gleaming buckles--such would be very crude notes for a description of Blanche Dormer. The train swept onward, and in a moment the platform was again silent and deserted, leaving Miss Dormer free to indulge in her evidently impulsive nature, by kissing and embracing Lady Quaintree in a very ardent manner. Lady Quaintree could have pardoned her for a little less show of affection, her ladyship being somewhat averse to being made so free with. “Dearest Lady Quaintree,” cried this young lady, her voice ringing like musical bells, “I am so glad to see you! Mama would have come to meet you, but she is not very well. Papa had to go to dine with Sir Charles Devereux, or he would have come. I have not seen you since those delightful days three years ago, when we had such a delicious ‘time,’ as the Americans say, at that old German _bade_.” “My dear, I have brought you a friend--Miss Lois Turquand,” said Lady Quaintree, with gentle dignity. “I hope you two girls will like one another.”