'How exciting! Has she not gone "ower the border an' awa', wi' Jock o' Hazeldean"?' asked Mina. 'Do tell us about her. What is her name?' 'Lizzie Hepburn; she is the sister of Walter, who was with my uncle,' said Gladys gravely. 'It is the strangest thing.' 'George, my dear, look what you are doing. Oh, my beautiful gown!' It was Mrs. Fordyce who thus turned the conversation. Her nephew, handing the cup of tea she had never found time to drink while her guests were present, had deliberately spilled it on the front of her tea-gown. The incident was laughed over in the end, and the only person present who thought of associating his awkwardness with the name Gladys had mentioned was Mina, the shrewdest of them all; but though she had many a strange and anxious thought on the subject, she held her peace. [Illustration] CHAPTER XXIII. REAL AND IDEAL. The little seamstress had never been out of Glasgow in her life. Even the Fair holidays, signal for an almost universal exodus 'doon the water,' brought no emancipation for her. It may be imagined that such a sudden and unexpected invitation to the country filled her with the liveliest anticipation. By eight o'clock that night she had finished her pile of work, and immediately made haste with it to the warehouse which employed her. When she had received her meagre payment, and had another bundle rather contemptuously pushed towards her by the hard-visaged forewoman, she experienced quite a little thrill of pride in refusing it. 'No, thank you, Mrs. Galbraith; I dinna need ony mair the day,' she said, and her face flushed under the forewoman's strong, steady stare. 'Oh, what's up?' 'I'm gaun into the country to visit a lady,' said Teen proudly. 'Oh, all right; there's a hundred waiting on the job, but don't expect to be taken on the moment you like to show your face. We can afford to be as independent as you.' 'I don't expect to need it,' said Teen promptly, though in truth her heart sank a little as she heard these words of doom. If Gladys failed her, she knew of no other place in that great and evil city where she could earn her bread. She even felt a trifle despondent as she retraced her steps to her garret, but, trying to throw it off, she set herself immediately on entering the house to inspect her wardrobe. This was a most interesting occupation, and, after much deliberation, she took her best black skirt to pieces, and proceeded to hang it as nearly as possible in the latest fashion. Then she had her hat to retrim, and a piece of clean lace to sew on her neckband. At four o'clock her last candle expired in its socket, and she had to go to bed. At the grey dawn she was astir again, and long before the brougham had left Bellairs Crescent with Gladys, Teen was waiting, tin box in hand, on the platform of St. Enoch's Station.