"Well, mamma, there is no harm in that. But more than that--he wants me to look nice, for myself. He thinks me still a little shy--though I never was shy, was I?--and he thinks nothing gives you courage like feeling yourself well dressed--but he takes the greatest interest in everything I wear." "And where do you go after Goodwood, Elinor?" "Oh, mamma, on such a round of visits!--here and there and everywhere. I don't know," and the tears sprang into Elinor's eyes, "when I may see you again." "You are not coming back to London," said the mother, with the heart sinking in her breast. "Not now--they all say London is insupportable--it is one of the things that everybody says, and I believe that Phil will not set foot in it again for many months. Perhaps I might get a moment, when he is shooting, or something, to run back to you; but it is a long way from Scotland--and he must be there, you know, for the 12th. He would think the world was coming to an end if he did not get a shot at the grouse on that day." "But I thought he was looking for an appointment, Elinor?" A cloud passed over Elinor's face. "The season is over," she said, "and all the opportunities are exhausted--and we don't speak of that any more." She gave her mother a very close hug at the railway, and sat with her head partly out of the window watching her as she stood on the platform, until the train turned round the corner. No relief on her dear face now, but an anxious strain in her eyes to see her mother as long as possible. Mrs. Dennistoun, as she walked again slowly up the hills that the pony might not suffer, said to herself, with a chill at her heart, that she would rather have seen her child sinking back in the corner, pleased that it was over, as on the first day. CHAPTER XIX.