The girl had clasped her hands behind her back, and stood with one foot forward, "on tiptoe for a flight," her young figure and radiant look expressing the hot will which possessed her. At the mention of Meynell's name she clearly hesitated, a frown crossed her eyes, her lip twitched. Then she said with vehemence: "Who asked him to spend all that time? Not I. Let him leave me alone. He does not care twopence about me, and it's mere humbug and hypocrisy all his pretending to care." "And your Aunt Alice--who's always worshipped you? Why, she's just miserable about you!" "She says exactly what you and Uncle Richard tell her to say--she always has! Well, I don't know about Paris, mamma--I'll think about it. If you and Sarah will just let me be, I'll take Roddy for a stroll, and then after tea I'll tell you what I'll do." And, turning, she beckoned to a fine collie lazily sunning himself on the drawing-room steps, and he sprang up, gambolling about her. "Promise you won't meet that man!" said Lady Fox-Wilton, in agitation. "I believe he went up to Scotland to-day," said Hester, laughing. "I haven't the smallest intention of meeting him. Come, Roddy!" The eyes of the two met--in those of the older woman, impatience, a kind of cold exasperation; in Hester's, defiance. It was a strange look to pass between a mother and daughter. Hester turned away, and then paused: "Oh, by the way, mamma--where are you going?" Lady Fox-Wilton hesitated unaccountedly. "Why do you ask?" Hester opened her eyes. "Why shouldn't I? Is it a secret? I wanted you to tell Aunt Alice something if you were going that way." "Mamma!" Sarah suddenly emerged from the schoolroom window and ran excitedly across the lawn toward her mother. "Have you heard this extraordinary story about John Broad's mother? Tibbald has just told me." Tibbald was the butler, and Sarah's special friend and crony. "What story? I wish you wouldn't allow Tibbald to gossip as you do, Sarah!" said Lady Fox-Wilton angrily. But a close observer might have seen that her bright colour precipitately left her. "Why, what harm was it?" cried Sarah, wondering. "He told me, because it seems Mrs. Sabin used to be a servant of ours long ago. Do you remember her, mamma?" Again Lady Fox-Wilton stumbled perceptibly in replying. She turned away, and, with the garden scissors at her waist, she began vaguely to clip off some dead roses from some bushes near her. "We once had a maid--for a very short time," she said over her shoulder, "who married some one of that name. What about her?"