Miss Armour had also an unusual personality, being the antithesis of her friend in looks and manner. To Mrs. Jarsell's massive assertiveness, she opposed a fragile timidity, and was as small of body as the other was large. Her oval, many-wrinkled face was the hue of old ivory, her features were delicate, and her small head drooped in a rather pensive manner. Her white hair, not so plentiful as that of Mrs. Jarsell, was smoothly arranged under a dainty cap of white lace, decorated, oddly enough, with diamond ornaments. And, indeed, she wore enough jewellery for both ladies; rings on her slender fingers, and chains round her neck, and bracelets on her wrists, with a belt of turquoise stones, a ruby brooch, and earrings of pearls. On a less refined person, this overloading of ornaments would have looked vulgar, but Miss Armour, although she glittered at all points like a heathen idol, preserved a calm dignity, which caused her sumptuous display to appear perfectly natural. It was very strange that such a mild-looking woman should deck herself out in this manner, so she, also, was a puzzle to Halliday's intelligence. Indeed, the two ladies, in their splendid room, suggested to Dan dreams of the Arabian Nights, and gave him the impression of being concerned in some gorgeous romance. Miss Armour, seated in the big chair which Mildred had mentioned, looked over Dan with mild, brown eyes, and evidently approved of his good looks. "I am glad to see you, Mr. Halliday," she said in a soft and musical voice, quite silvery in its sound. "To an old person, such as I am, the young are always welcome." Dan felt called upon to pay a compliment. "You don't look old," he said bluntly. "Well, now-a-days, sixty cannot be called old," said Miss Armour with a pretty laugh, "as I am assured that women of that age actually dance in London." "The age-limit has been extended since Victorian times," laughed Laurance, who had seated himself near one of the windows beside Mildred. "Yes," assented Mrs. Jarsell, in deep tones suggestive of a mellow-sounding bell. "In those times, women went on the shelf at thirty-five, and lived again in their children. Now-a-days, there are no old people." "Certainly not in this room," said Dan courteously. "You are Irish, I should say, Mr. Halliday," remarked Miss Armour, smiling, as she resumed her knitting of a red and white striped shawl; "only an Irishman could pay such a pretty compliment." "My mother was Irish," admitted Dan amiably, "and I made a special journey to kiss the Blarney stone in the hope that it might oil my tongue." Mrs. Jarsell in her heavy way seemed amused. "You have certainly accomplished your purpose, Mr. Halliday. But what does a gay young man, as I see you are, do in this solitary neighborhood?" and her keen black eyes swept over him from head to foot inquiringly. "Ah," put in Freddy quickly, "that question brings out the reason of our visit to you, Mrs. Jarsell. Behold in my friend a lover."