I did wait. I did not want tea, nor did I want to see Lady Mary, but in a very few minutes, true to the servant's words, she appeared. She was a very pretty woman, and looked quite young beside her brother. She had a kind, thoughtful face, a high-bred face, the face of one who had never in the whole of her life thought of anything except what was good and noble. I was certain of that the moment I saw her. I was glad now that Lord Hawtrey had asked her to come to me. In my excitement I forgot that she must think my conduct strange, and must wonder what sort of a girl I, Heather Dalrymple, was. She came up to me and held out her hand, then she looked into my face. "Lord Hawtrey has begged of me to come and see you. Shall we have some tea together?" She sat down at once and poured out tea for us both. She offered me a cup, and I felt that I should be very rude if I refused it. It was with difficulty I could either eat or drink, but Lady Mary seemed to expect me to do so, and for her sake I made an effort. The tea did me good, for it was strong and fragrant, the bread and butter was delicious, it did me good also. I felt more like a child and less like an anguished, storm-tossed woman than I had done before that meal. When it came to an end Lady Mary touched a silver gong, and presently a woman, dressed beautifully all in white, and whom Lady Mary called Blanche, appeared. "Take these things away, please, Blanche," she said, "and order my carriage to be at the door in half an hour." "Yes, my lady," replied Blanche. She removed the tea things, the door was shut behind her, and Lady Mary and I faced each other. "Now," she said, "you had better tell me what you intended to say to my brother, Lord Hawtrey. I can see that you are in trouble, and I should very much like to help you." "Oh, but it is impossible to tell you," I replied. The colour rushed into my cheeks, then it receded, leaving them very pale. I knew they were pale, for I felt so cold. Lady Mary changed her seat. She came over, took a low chair, seated herself by my side, and stretching out her hand, clasped one of mine in hers. "Dear," she said, in a gentle tone, "you are very young, are you not?" "I suppose so," I answered, "but I do not feel so. I am eighteen." "Ah! But eighteen is extremely young; I know that, who am twenty-eight; my brother Hawtrey is forty." "I know," I said, "your brother is old, is he not? I thought I might come to see a kind old man. Have I done wrong?" "No, child, you have not done wrong; nevertheless, you have done something that the world would not approve of. Now, I want you to come away to my house. I live in another part of London; in my house you can see my brother if you wish, but why do you not confide in me? I should like to be your friend." I looked straight up at her. After all, she was nearer to my own age. Could I not tell her? I said impulsively: