The door slowly opened as she spoke, and two small figures came in silently, closing it behind them.  There they stood, a story in themselves; Netta, with the bearing and the dress of a shabby little housekeeper; the girl ghastly thin, her shoulder-blades cutting her flimsy dress, blue shadows in all the hollows of the face, but with extraordinary pride of bearing, and extraordinary possibilities of beauty in the modelling of her delicate features, and splendid melancholy eyes.  Tatham could not help staring at her.  She was indeed the disinherited princess.

Then he walked up to them, and shook hands with boyish heartiness.

“I say, you do look pumped out!  But don’t you worry too much.  My mother and I’ll see what can be done.  We’ll set the lawyers on, if there’s nothing else.  It’s a beastly shame, anyway!  But now, you take it easy.  We’ll look after you.  Sit down, won’t you?  Mother’s chairs are the most comfortable in the house!”

He installed them; and then at once took the serious, business air, which still gave his mother a pleasure which was half amusement.  Felicia, sitting in a corner behind her mother’s sofa, could not take her eyes from him.  The tall, fair English youth, six foot two, and splendidly developed, the pink of health, modesty, and kindly courtesy, was different from all other beings that had ever swum into her view.  She watched him close and furtively—­his features, his dress, his gestures; comparing the living man in her mind with the photograph upstairs, and so absorbed in her study of him that she scarcely heard a word of the triangular discussion going on between her mother, Tatham, and Victoria.  The whole time she was drinking in impressions, as of a god-like creature, all beneficence.

After an hour’s cross-examination of the poor, shrinking Netta, Tatham’s blood too was up; he was eager for the fray.  To attack Melrose was a joy; made none the less keen by the reflection that to help these two helpless ones was a duty.  Lydia’s approval, Lydia’s sympathy were certain; he kindled the more.

“All right!” he said, rising.  “Now I think we are agreed on the first step.  Faversham is our man.  I must see Faversham at once, and set him to work!  If I find him, I will report the result to you, Mrs. Melrose—­so far—­by luncheon time.”

He departed, to ring up the Threlfall office in Pengarth and inquire whether Faversham could be seen there.  Victoria left the room with him.

“Have you forgotten these rumours of which Undershaw wrote you?”

“What, as to Faversham?  No, I have not forgotten them.  But I shan’t take any notice of them.  He can’t accept anything for himself till these two have got their due!  What right has he to Melrose’s property at all?” said the young man indignantly.

* * * * *

The mother and son had scarcely left the room when Netta turned to her daughter with trembling lips.