Dorothy had flushed a little at the compliment which Mrs Purchas had paid her; she even showed some faint sign of being amused at her laughing pretence of treating her as if she were a person of importance; but when she asked her that last question all signs of amusement faded. Was she connected with Dorothy Gilbert of Newcaster? No doubt the question was asked in jest; though, as a jest, it was scarcely in the very best taste. It struck Dorothy dumb. It was such a bolt out of the blue, so unexpected, that, for the first moment, she did not clearly realise what was meant; but, when she did, any humour which the thing might have had was lost on her. In that first moment of shock she could not have spoken to save her life. And, when the first force of the blow--for it was as if she had been struck a blow--had begun to pass, and the significance of the lightly uttered words commenced to dawn on her, she would have liked to be able to sink into the ground, if only to escape the woman's eyes. That the singularity of her bearing had impressed those about her was plain. Mrs Vernon and her daughter had already grown accustomed, in a measure, to the strange effect chance words were apt to have upon their guest; so that they were not so altogether taken by surprise as was the unintentional cause of the girl's visible emotion. Her amazement was not mirrored in Mrs Purchas' face; it was in her bungling attempt to offer an apology for having done she knew not what. "I--I'm sure, my dear, I--I beg your pardon." The girl looked so very queer that the lady burst out in sudden alarm: "My dear!--what have I done?" Frances came to the rescue. "It's all right, Mrs Purchas--Miss Gilbert is not very well; it's my fault for making her come out." She drew the girl away, intending to lead her back to the house, which she inwardly realised that she had been foolish to induce her to leave. Dorothy certainly was exasperatingly trying. But there was worse to follow--they were waylaid on the road; this time by Mr Jim Vernon, who escorted a masculine acquaintance, the tale of whose years was eloquently suggested by a question which he had addressed to Jim: "I say, Jim, who's that ripping-looking girl who's with your sister?" And Jim had responded: "She's a topper, my boy--a fair topper. But, as I'm in a generous mood, if you'll come along with me I'll do the needful." So they went along together, and they came to Miss Vernon and her friend; and Jim immediately observed, in that free-and-easy way which is popular with latter-day youth: "Awfully glad to see you, Miss Gilbert--frightful blow when I was told you weren't showing. Mr Denman--Miss Gilbert." Mr Denman acknowledged the introduction with the remark: "Gilbert!--that name's rather in the air just now. Ever been to Newcaster, Miss Gilbert?" Jim asked: "Why Newcaster?"