“Send her to school,” was the advice given him by all his lady friends, and Lord Ridsdale followed it, as being the safest and wisest plan yet suggested to him.  She was sent first to a lady’s school at Brighton, then to Paris, with Lady Livingstone’s daughters, then to Miss Carleton’s, and Miss Carleton was by universal consent considered the most efficient finishing governess in England.

Marion was very clever; she was romantic to a fault; she idealized everything and every one with whom she came into contact.  She had a poet’s soul, loving most dearly all things bright and beautiful; she was very affectionate, very impressionable, able, generous with a queenly lavishness, truthful, noble.  Had she been trained by a careful mother, Marion Arleigh would have been one of the noblest of women; but the best of school training cannot compensate for the wise and loving discipline of home.  She grew up a most accomplished and lovely girl; the greatest fault that could be found with her was that she was terribly unreal.  She knew nothing of the practical part of life.  She idealized every one so completely that she never really understood any one.

Lord Ridsdale wondered often what he was to do with this beautiful and gifted girl when her school days were ended.

“She must be introduced to the world then,” he thought; “and I fervently hope she’ll soon be married.”

But as her coming to Ridsdale House would cause so great an alteration in his way of life, he deferred that event as long as it was possible to do so.

When Adelaide Lyster came as a governess-pupil to Miss Carleton’s school Marion Arleigh was just sixteen.  Miss Lyster was not long before she knew the rank and social importance of her beautiful young pupil.

“When you have the world at your feet,” she would say to her sometimes, “I shall ask you a favor.”

“Ask me now!” said Marion, and then Miss Lyster told her how she had a brother—­a genius—­an artist—­whose talent equaled that of Raphael, but that he was unknown to the world and had no one to take an interest in his fortunes.

“One word from you when you are a great lady will be of more value to my brother than even the praise of critics,” she would say; and Miss Arleigh, flattered by the speech, would promise that word should be spoken.  Adelaide Lyster spent long hours in talking of her brother—­of his genius, his struggles, his thirst for appreciation; the portrait she drew of him was so beautiful that Marion Arleigh longed to know him.  Her wish was gratified at last.  The drawing master who for many years had attended the school died, and Adelaide besought Miss Carleton to engage her brother.  The astute lady was at first unwilling.  Allan Lyster was young, and she did not think a young master at all suitable.  But Adelaide represented to her that, although young, he was highly gifted—­he could teach well, and his terms were lower than most masters.