They were a couple of handsome girls, with a good swinging swagger of the body, and held themselves aggressively in all the trim comeliness of young womanhood, as though they could pay their way and expected the men to cast a glance that same way. Their full red lips were undisciplined; they were the outward sign of their wills, they would do only what it pleased them to do. No young and comely thing is wholly vulgar; and they were young and comely. The stout man’s bloodshot eyes watched the young girl’s face keenly to read what passed on the first impression; but Betty was not easy to read. She turned to him--was touched with the anxious eagerness of his attitude: “Yes,” she said in a low voice--“I will come.” “Girls!” bawled the millionaire--“here is Miss Betty Modeyne, whose father was a friend of a great friend of mine--take her off with you, and introduce her to your mother--she has come to stay for a good long visit, if a soldier’s daughter can put up with the dull house of a city man.” The two girls came and kissed Betty, and, taking her by the arm, adored her. The young love the beautiful and the young.... Nevertheless, Betty decided to keep on her little attic; and, making a business visit the excuse, she went away for the afternoon to purchase garments and brought back with her the black dress-basket--that was largely filled with emptiness. But it had a lock upon its emptiness. Late that afternoon, as the twilight fell, Mr. Pompey Malahide burst in upon Bartholomew Doome, where he sat in the dusk of his studio; the millionaire praised as lavishly as he spent money. “No,” said Doome, “I have never seen her; but I know all about her.... There are so few beautiful women.” “By the book,” said Mr. Pompey, swelling, “a marchioness, sir--a marchioness. And a chit of a girl, too--ties her very ribbons like a damn blue-blooded countess.... I wonder where some women get it!” Doome rose from his chair languidly, and strolled over to the fussing excited man: “Lord of advertisements,” said he, tapping the chest of the other--“there is a book you do not read--it would baffle you as Bradshaw’s railway guide baffles me. That book is called _The Extinct and Dormant Peerage_.” The stout millionaire stared at him with questioning eyes: “Well?” he asked. “Well,” said Bartholomew Doome--“she comes out of that.” CHAPTER XXXII _Wherein the Gallant Major rises from the Dead_ So, for three several months, the summer shone gaily upon the town, and passed away over the edge of the world in happy fashion enough. And Betty grew to some affection for the kindly rough man who was the clumsy lord of this elaborate house. And out of her liking grew an anxious and increasing fearfulness for the girls.