“Would he come, indeed?” reflected Arthur.  “Would he step into Paradise? would he accept the humble offer of free quarters in the Garden of Eden?” Rapture beamed so visibly from every feature of his face that Philip saw it and smiled.  Just as he was about to accept with enthusiasm, he caught sight of Angela’s look of distress.  It chilled him like the sudden shock of cold water; she did not wish him to come, he thought, she did not care for him.  Obliged, however, to give an answer, he said,

“I shall be delighted if”—­and here he bowed towards her—­“Miss Caresfoot does not object.”

“If father,” broke in Angela, with hesitation, “you could arrange that Mr. Heigham came to-morrow, not to-day, it would be more convenient.  I must get a room ready.”

“Ah! domestic details; I had overlooked them.  I daresay you can manage that—­eh, Heigham?”

“Oh! yes, easily, thank you.”

As he said the words, the door was flung open, and “Lady Bellamy” was announced with the energy that a footman always devotes to the enunciation of a title, and next second a splendid creature, magnificently dressed, sailed into the room.

“Ah! how do you do, Mr. Caresfoot?” she said, in that low, rich voice that he remembered so well.  “It is some time since we met; indeed, it quite brings back old times to see you, when we were all young people together.”

“At any rate, Lady Bellamy, you show no signs of age; indeed, if you will permit me to say so, you look more beautiful than ever.”

“Ah!  Mr. Caresfoot, you have not forgotten how to be gallant, but let me tell you that it entirely depends upon what light I am in.  If you saw me in the midst of one of those newfangled electric illuminations, you would see that I do look old; but what can one expect at forty?” Here her glance fell upon Angela’s face for the first time, and she absolutely started; the great pupils of her eyes expanded, and a dark frown spread itself for a moment over her countenance.  Next second it was gone.  “Is it possible that that beautiful girl is your daughter?  But, remembering her mother, I need not ask.  Look at her, Mr. Caresfoot, and then look at me, and say whether or not I look old.  And who is the young man?  Her lover, I suppose—­at any rate, he looks like it; but please introduce me.”

“Angela,” said Philip, crossing to the window where they were talking, “let me introduce you to Lady Bellamy.  Mr. Heigham—­Lady Bellamy.”

“I am delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Caresfoot, though I think it is very generous of me to say so.”

Angela looked puzzled.

“Indeed!” she said.

“What! do you not guess why it is generous?  Then look at yourself in the glass, and you will see.  I used to have some pretension to good looks, but I could never have stood beside you at the best of times, and now——­ Your mother, even when I was at my best, always killed me if I was in the same room with her, and you are even handsomer than your mother.”