I met his eyes; the clear, blue, boyish eyes of the young man from next door. He looked away again immediately. There was an expression on his face that seemed meant to emphasise, to underline, the announcement that he had never seen me before. No. Apparently he had never set eyes on the small, chestnut-haired girl (myself) in the shabby blue serge coat and skirt and the straw hat that had been white last summer, and that was now home-dyed--rather unsuccessfully--to something that called itself black. So evidently Aunt Anastasia had been rude to him about yesterday evening. Possibly she had forbidden him to speak to her niece and her dear brother's child, and Lady Anastasia's great-granddaughter ever again. This made my blood boil. Why must she make us look so ridiculous? Such--such futile snobs? Without any apparent excuse for keeping ourselves so aloof, either! To put on "select" airs without any circumstances to carry them off with is like walking about in a motor-coat and goggles when you haven't got any motor, when you never will have any motor! It's Million who will have those. Anyhow, I felt I didn't want him to think I was as absurd as my aunt. I cleared my throat. I turned towards him. In quite a determined sort of voice I said "Good morning!" Hereupon the young man from next door raised his straw hat, and said "Good morning" in a polite but distant tone. He glanced at Million, then away again. In the blue eye nearest to me I think I surprised a far-away twinkle. How awful! Possibly he was thinking, "H'm! So the dragon of an aunt doesn't let the girl out now without a maid as a chaperon to protect her! Is she afraid that somebody may elope with her at half-past nine in the morning?" I was sorry I'd spoken. I looked hard away from the young man all the rest of the ride to Chancery Lane. Here we got off. We walked half-way up the little busy, narrow thoroughfare, and in at a big, cool, cave-like entrance to some offices. "Chesterton, Brown, Jones, and Robinson. Third Floor," I read from the notice-board. "No lift. Come along, Million." The stars had faded out of Million's eyes again. She looked scared. She clutched me by the arm. "Oh, Miss Beatrice! I do hate goin' up!" "Why, you little silly! This isn't the dentist's." "I know. But, oh, miss! If there is one thing I can't bear it's being made game of," said Million, pitifully, half-way up the stairs. "This Mr. Chesterton--he won't half laugh!" "Why should he laugh?" "At me, bein' supposed to have come in for all those dollars of me uncle's. Do I look like an heiress?" She didn't, bless her honest, self-conscious little heart. From her brown hat, wreathed with forget-me-nots, past the pin-on blue velvet tie, past the brown cloth costume, down to the quite new shoes that creaked a little, our Million looked the very type of what she was--a nice little servant-girl taking a day off.