The northern evening sank into a long and glowing twilight.  The hills stood in purple against a tawny west, and the smoke from the little town in the valley rose clear and blue into air already autumnal.  The guests of Franick had scattered in twos and threes over the gardens and the moor, while Doris, her host and hostess, and the solicitor, sat and waited for Alice Wigram.  She came with the evening train, tired, dusty, and triumphant; and the information she brought with her was more than enough to go upon.  The past of Elena Flink—­poor lady!—­shone luridly out; and even the countenance of the solicitor cleared.  As for Lord Dunstable, he grasped the girl by both hands.

“My dear child, what you have done for us!  Ah, if your father were here!”

And bending over her, with the courtly grace of an old man, he kissed her on the brow.  Alice Wigram flushed, turning involuntarily towards Lady Dunstable.

“Rachel!—­don’t we owe her everything,” said Lord Dunstable with emotion—­“her and Mrs. Meadows?  But for them, our boy might have wrecked his life.”

“He appears to have been a most extraordinary fool!” said Lady Dunstable with energy:—­a recrudescence of the natural woman, which was positively welcome to everybody.  And it did not prevent the passage of some embarrassed but satisfactory words between Herbert Dunstable’s mother and Alice Wigram, after Lady Dunstable had taken her latest guest to “Lady Mary’s” room, bidding her go straight to bed, and be waited on.

Lord Dunstable and the lawyer departed after dinner to meet their special train at Perth.  Lady Dunstable, with variable spirits, kept the evening going, sometimes in a brown study, sometimes as brilliant and pugnacious as ever.  Doris slipped out of the drawing-room once or twice to go and gossip with Alice Wigram, who was lying under silken coverings, inclined to gentle moralising on the splendours of the great, and much petted by Miss Field and the house-keeper.

“How nice you look!” said the girl shyly, on one occasion, as Doris came stealing in to her.  “I never saw such a pretty gown!”

“Not bad!” said Doris complacently, throwing a glance at the large mirror near.  It was still the white tea-gown, for she had firmly declined to sample anything else, in truth well aware that Arthur’s eyes approved both it and her in it.

“Lord Dunstable has been so kind,” whispered Miss Wigram.  “He said I must always henceforth look upon him as a kind of guardian.  Of course I should never let him give me a farthing!”

“Why no, that’s the kind of thing one couldn’t do!” said Doris with decision.  “But there are plenty of other ways of being nice.  Well—­here we all are, as happy as larks; and what we’ve really done, I suppose, is to take a woman’s character away, and give her another push to perdition.”

“She hadn’t any character!” cried Alice Wigram indignantly.  “And she would have gone to perdition without us, and taken that poor youth with her.  Oh, I know, I know!  But morals are a great puzzle to me.  However, I firmly remind myself of that ‘one in the eye,’ and then all my doubts depart.  Good-night.  Sleep well!  You know very well that I should have shirked it if it hadn’t been for you!”