Giddy again answers for Eleanor. "Mr. Roche won't let her, he thinks any publicity _infra dig._ for a woman." "Perhaps he is right," says Lady MacDonald; "I know Edward won't allow me to pen a line for the press, though I have quite a genius for scribbling. He is so cross because people get my picture sometimes for the Society papers. I have to hide them away from him. The last one caught his eye hung up on a bookstall, and he was nearly suffocated with wrath on the spot, and could not speak for three minutes." "The penalty of beauty," cries Giddy gaily. "Are you one of the types of English beauty?" asks Eleanor. "Oh! no. Nothing so common. I leave that to Irish belles, and ladies of the ballet." She raises her delicate chin, and rests her languid eyes on Mrs. Roche. The door opens, and Sarah's voice announces: "Mr. and Mrs. Grebby!" [Illustration: "Mr. and Mrs. Grebby!"] Eleanor starts to her feet, and rashes forward. "Father! Mother!" There they stand. Mrs. Grebby in a black satin grown, a long gold chain suspended round her neck, a Paisley shawl crossed over her chest, and a close bonnet of quilted blue satin. Mr. Grebby, with a sparse frill of grey hair growing right round his face, his chin and long upper lip guiltless of hirsute appendages. A gorgeous suit of a very baggy cut, flowered satin waistcoat, and a basket of apples and cooking pears in his hand, as a present to his daughter. At his heels a shaggy dog, blind in one eye and toothless--one that in its puppyhood had leaped and played with Eleanor in the green fields of Copthorne Farm. A cry of delight breaks from her, as she hugs her parents in turn, and catches sight of her old favourite. "Rover--my darling!" she exclaims, sinking on her knees to fondle the dog. He springs up with his muddy feet on the shoulders of her beautiful heliotrope dress. His claws catch in the lace, but she heeds them not, only laughs gleefully as he licks her face. "We couldn't help bringing him," says Mr. Grebby, wiping his brow with a red handkerchief, which is shining and damp from excitement. "Poor follow, he _did_ want to come! Black Bess will miss him, won't she?" "We took it into our heads sudden like to visit London and surprise you, dearie," Mrs. Grebby vouchsafes. "How lovely of you!" cries Eleanor, in her joy forgetting the guests by the fire, then she turns and faces them. Giddy feels as if cold water is coursing down her back, the palms of her hands are icy cold. The feathers in her friend's hat seem dancing up and down before her eyes. Lady MacDonald is positively glaring through her tortoiseshell glasses. There is an air of offended dignity in her mien, as she looks the couple up and down freezingly. "This is my father and mother," says Eleanor, an elated smile upon her lips, a merry sparkle in her eyes. What do these people matter, now that her parents have come to her new home? She longs to show them everything, and watch their wonder.