Beatrice packed her boxes and got ready to go. By five o'clock she was hatted and cloaked, and a trap was waiting at the gates to take her to Convent Grange along with her luggage. Alpenny was to be buried on the morrow, but it was just as well that Miss Hedge should leave The Camp to-night. But she was not to go yet for an hour, for scarcely had she reached the open gates, when a small lady, fashionably dressed, entered, and came straight towards her. When Durban saw her, he frowned. "Lady Watson!" he breathed in the ear of his young mistress. "She seems anxious to take possession of her property," said the girl bitterly, and looked carefully at the woman who had supplanted her in the race for Alpenny's wealth. Lady Watson looked--in the distance--like a child, so small and delicate and slender did she appear. But when she came close, which she did, with an engaging smile, Beatrice saw that her face was covered with innumerable fine wrinkles, and that she was painted and powdered, and made up--as the saying is--to within an inch of her life. Her hair was dyed a golden colour; she wore a veil to hide the too obvious make-up of her face; and the only young thing about her were a pair of sparkling eyes, of a bright brown. At one time she had been--without the aid of art--an extremely pretty woman: even now--with the aid of art--she looked attractive and youthful, providing she was looked at from a safe distance, like an oil-painting. Her dress was ultra-fashionable, and she wore it with the air of a woman accustomed to spend no end of money in drapers' shops. Her teeth were good, but probably were false, as was her smile. Beatrice, a straightforward person herself, took an instinctive dislike to this gushing little mass of affectation, which came mincing towards her. She had no wish to cultivate the acquaintance. But Lady Watson gave her no time to express her dislike, either by looks or in words. "My dear child--my sweet Beatrice," she cried, in a rather shrill voice, and sailing forward with eager, outstretched hands, "how glad I am to see you at last! That dreadful Mr. Alpenny--he never would allow me to come and see you, although I was your mother's dearest--very dearest and closest friend. But then the poor creature is dead; and he really wasn't a nice person, when all is said and done." "Mrs. Snow told me that you were my mother's friend," replied Beatrice gravely, and surrendering her hands to the eager grasp. "I am glad to see you, as I wish to talk about my mother." "Oh!" Lady Watson started, and cast a suspicious look on the grave young face. "Then you are not glad to see me on my own account?" "I scarcely know you, Lady Watson." "Ah, but you will soon. I am a very easy person to get on with, as Durban knows. Dear old Durban"--she turned a smiling glance at the half-caste, who looked gloomily at the ground--"he is as young as ever.--It is long since we met, Durban?"