‘Is that Miss Jocelyn?’ asked Lawrence, almost in a voice of awe.  The young curate grew very red as Jill rode under the balcony and nodded to him in a friendly manner.

‘There is Mr. Tudor,’ we heard her say.  ’Be quick and lift me off my horse, Clarence.’  But she had slipped to the ground before her cousin could touch her, and had run indoors.

Mr. Tudor went into the room at once, but I sat still for a moment.  Why had I asked him?  Of course it was Leah.  I could see her strange light-coloured eyes glancing up in my direction.  What was she doing in London?  I wondered.  She was dressed well, evidently in her mistress’s cast-off clothes, for she wore a handsome silk dress and mantle.  Had they quarrelled and parted?  I felt instinctively that it would be a good day for Gladwyn if Leah ever shook off its dust from her feet.  Gladys regarded her as a spy and informer, and she had evidently an unwholesome influence over her mistress.

We separated soon after this to dress for dinner, and Mr. Tudor went to his hotel.  I was rather sorry when I came downstairs to find that Jill had made rather a careless toilet.  She wore the flimsy Indian muslin gown that I thought so unbecoming to her style, with a string of gold beads of curious Florentine work round her neck.  She looked so different from the graceful young Amazon who had ridden up an hour ago that I felt provoked, and was not surprised to hear the old sharp tone in Aunt Philippa’s voice: 

’My dear Jocelyn, why have you put on that old gown?  Surely your new cream-coloured dress with coffee lace would have been more suitable.  What was Draper thinking about?’

‘I was in too great a hurry; I did not wait for Draper,’ returned Jill candidly.  ’Draper was dreadfully cross about it, but I ran away from her.  What does it matter, mamma?  They have all seen my cream-coloured dress, except—­’ But here Jill laughed:  the naughty child meant Mr. Tudor.

’I am afraid there is not time to change it now; but I am very much vexed about it,’ returned Aunt Philippa, in a loud whisper.  ’You are really looking your worst to-night.’  But Jill only laughed again, and asked her cousin Clarence when he took her down to dinner if it were not a very pretty gown.

‘I don’t know much about gowns,’ drawled the young man,—­Mr. Tudor and I were following them:  ’it looks rather flimsy and washed out.  If I were you I would wear something more substantial.  You see, you are so big, Jocelyn; your habit suits you better.’

We heard Jill laughing in a shrill fashion at this dubious compliment, and presently she and Mr. Tudor, who sat next to her, were talking as happily as possible.  I do not believe he noticed her unbecoming gown:  his face had lighted up, and he was full of animation.  Poor Lawrence! he was five-and-twenty, and yet the presence of this girl of sixteen was more to him than all the young-ladyhood of Heathfield.  Even charming little Lady Betty was beaten out of the field by Jill’s dark eyes and sprightly tongue.