The dog licks her hand and whines. Slowly the folding doors push open, and the old couple stand upon the threshold. Mr. Grebby's round face is pale, Mrs. Grebby's cheeks wet with fast falling tears. "Oh! dearie, dearie," she cries, folding Eleanor in her arms. "We ought not to 'ave come, we didn't know. But she was right, dearie, and we will go away, and you shall have your party and your friends. Oh! we was wrong, all wrong." "Don't talk like that," moans Eleanor, realising they have overheard. "She is a wicked snob--a--a--" "There, dearie, be calm, don't fret." "I will never forgive her," Eleanor stammers. "I love you and I hate Giddy." She kisses Mrs. Grebby's damp cheeks, talking between her sobs. "It was not true, not one word of it, she just said it all to be disagreeable. She likes me to be miserable; I don't believe she ever had any parents of her own--I mean, not what you call parents. Some say she was born in a workhouse, a caravan, or an East-end doss. Though how she managed to be what she is they can't explain. I thought she was nice, mammy. I called her my friend. I tried to be like her," shuddering at the recollection. "Oh! don't go away," taking them each by the hand. "Thank you, my girl, thank you," murmurs Mr. Grebby, "but Ma and I are better at Copthorne. We are not fit for Society; some day you will come back to the old 'ome and see us, won't you? and we'll all be happy again together." Eleanor and Mrs. Grebby dry their tears, while Mr. Grebby pats them both on the back cheerily. Rover fawns round, barking and wagging his tail. Philip, who is staying late from town this morning in honour of his guests, enters the room. "What is the matter?" he asks, looking at Eleanor's wistful face. "I am not going to Mrs. Mounteagle's party," she says. "Well, never mind. You can send your frock round," he cries jokingly, "and ask her to put it on a chair with a label: 'This is what Mrs. Roche would have worn had she been here.'" But his chaff was received in silence. Then he notices for the first time the red rims round her eyes. "Why, little woman, you have been crying!" "Yes," murmurs Eleanor, "I have quarrelled with Giddy." Then between them the three explain as best they can what has happened. Philip is deeply interested. "It was all our mistake," whimpers Mrs. Grebby. "We are that sorry; we wouldn't 'ave come. We really didn't guess what an upset it would make--parting friends, and bringing trouble on our darling." "Do not regret it," says Mr. Roche, taking her hand. "Such friends are not worth having, and Eleanor is well rid of them." Secretly he blesses the Grebbys for their timely appearance, and resolves to write to Erminie and inform her of the fact. "We are goin' back this morning," continues Mrs. Grebby. "Harriet expects us, and is reserving a front room in her lodging house. There, dearie," as Eleanor protests, "don't take on; we'd best go."