("Oh, Isobel, my friend, if you only knew that," Elma conferred with herself, "you wouldn’t perhaps be the centre of attraction to-day.") "He’s a man who’s great friends with the pater," said Jean unconcernedly. "He goes abroad a lot and writes up things and develops photos and has a place in Wales." "A place in Wales, how nice!" said the London girl. "But it isn’t the great Mr. Symington, is it?" "Why, yes, I suppose it must be," said Jean. "Of course it is," said Miss Meredith, socially active once more. "Mr. Symington is a very famous young man." "Good gracious," said the London girl, "my curling tongs at once, please. These surprises are very demoralizing. Look at my hair." They all made themselves beautiful for "the great Mr. Symington." Mabel turned a pair of wide eyes on Elma. Elma nodded like a little mother, with a wealth of smiles at her lips. (Oh, Mabel, play up!) Cuthbert had found his mother coming out of the drawing-room. "Well, you seem in good spirits," said she, "Who is in there?" he asked. "Mr. Symington." "Oh, it’s he, is it?" "Why do you ask?" "Oh, for no particular reason," said Cuthbert. "Only Elma saw him coming in and called him an old johnny. I knew something was up." "Elma?" asked Mrs. Leighton anxiously. "Yes. And she’s in great form about something. Haven’t seen her so gay for an age." Mrs. Leighton’s eyes dropped. "Poor little girl," she said to herself. She thought it best to proceed upstairs, and break some of the surprise of Mr. Symington’s arrival. She found them in a room where boxes were piled in every direction. It was like her that in her present dilemma she should immediately begin to reprove them for their untidy habits. "This room is really a disgrace," she said. "Just look at all these boxes! And it’s tea-time and not one of you in the drawing-room with your father, the only afternoon he has too! Elma, what have you been doing to make your hair so untidy?" "My hair is only a wig, and this is my room," said Elma firmly. "For the last ten minutes I have been trying to get to my own mirror. We are prinking ourselves up for the great Mr. Symington." "Oh," said Mrs. Leighton. "So you know. Well, he only got the invitation a few days ago, when he was buried in Servia or some outlandish place. He came right on." "For my wedding?" asked Isobel in cool surprise. Miss Meredith gazed in a rather frightened manner at every one. "No," said Elma. "Not altogether. There were others reasons." She determined to cut all the ground from under the feet of Sarah. "I arranged it with Mr. Symington," she said in an important voice. Then, with the airy manner of the London girl, she patted down the turbulent wig, which had so annoyed Mrs. Leighton. "He is a perfect duck," she said lightly. CHAPTER XXX "Now here there dawneth"