"Well, he is this time, so you can crow over him, Miss Starth. He is anxious to get some Arabic letters. You haven't such a thing, I suppose," he added, half jokingly. "Good gracious! where could I-- Wait," she said, rising, "there's a portrait which belonged to poor Walter. There are some Arabic letters on it. Mrs. Perth told me they were Arabic. But she may be wrong." "As a governess she ought not to be," put in Jenny. "Get it, Mildred." While Miss Starth hastened into the house, Jenny stared up into Frank's face in quite an embarrassing way. "Are you going to stay long at the Shanty?" she asked. "That depends upon Mr. Jarman." "Oh, then you'll stay as long as you like. He's very fond of you." "He is a very good friend to me," said Frank, quietly. Jenny nodded. "He is to everyone, I think. Mildred's fond of him. He has helped her a lot with her poetry. I like him better than Mr. Darrel. Do you know Mr. Darrel?" "I have heard of him," replied Frank, cautiously. "I don't like him at all," said Jenny, shaking her head vigorously. "He's a great friend to pa and ma, and very rich. But he doesn't come down to see them," she tittered. "No, Mildred's the attraction." "Does Miss Starth like him?" asked Frank, quickly. "She says she doesn't; but, of course, he's so rich. But I would rather she married Mr. Jarman, wouldn't you?" Frank was spared the pain of replying to this embarrassing query by the return of Mildred with the portrait, which she placed in his hands. "It's the picture of a negress," she said, "and the letters at the foot--" "They are Arabic sure enough. Who is the woman!" "I don't know. It is a fancy portrait, I suppose." "Probably. Can I take this away with me for a few days to copy the letters, Miss Starth? I'll return it safe." "Oh, take it by all means. Look, Jenny, there's beauty." Jenny sat up, and looked at the face earnestly. "It's something like Mr. Darrel," she said at length. "Nonsense!" said Mildred, looking in her turn at the picture. "But, really, I don't know. What do you think, Mr. O'Neil?" There was a resemblance to Darrel. The same sulky expression, and thick lips, and arrogant air. "Perhaps she's a relative of his," giggled Jenny. "He was born in the West Indies, you know." "This portrait was taken at some place in Rotherhithe," said Mildred, pointing out the photographer's name. "But it is like Mr. Darrel." "Quite as ugly," said Jenny; "though it's mean of me saying that," she added, "for Mr. Darrel gave me a lovely brooch last time he was down. He's coming again in a month. Do you know, Mildred?" "Yes, I know," replied Miss Starth, in no very pleased tone. Frank slipped the portrait into his pocket, as Billy Arrow came on to the lawn followed by Jarman and Natty. Billy was nearly twenty-one, and a Sandhurst cadet, but a great deal of the schoolboy remained in him. "We've had a rippin' time," said the young gentleman, throwing himself on the lawn. "Would you like some tea?" asked Mildred.