“How wise you have been to keep away from town these years!  One gets so sick of the perpetual round.”

“I should have thought it truly delightful,” said Mrs. Purling, who, of course, took the unknown for the magnificent.

“Any honest labour would be preferable.”

“Turn lady-help; that’s my mother’s common advice.”

“Harold, how dare you suggest such a thing to Miss Fanshawe?  Do you know she is a peer’s daughter?”

“I thought you said housework would do for the daughters of kings; and you have proposed it to our cousin, Dolly Dri—­”

“Were you at Ryde this year, Phillipa?” asked Mrs. Purling, promptly.

“No—­at Cowes.  We were yachting.  Dreary business, don’t you think, Mr. Purling?”

“I rather like it.”

“Yes, if you have a pleasant party and an object.  But mere cruising”—­Miss Fanshawe was quick at shifting her ground.

“And you are going to Scotland?”

“Probably; and then for a round of visits.  Dear, dear, how I loathe it all!  I had far rather stay with you.”

The heiress smiled gratefully.  It was, indeed, the dearest wish of her heart that Phillipa should stay with her for good and all, and she was at no pains to conceal the fact.  To Phillipa she spoke with diffidence, doubting whether this great personage could condescend to favour her son.  But there was no lack of frankness in the old lady’s speech.

“If you and he would only make a match of it!”

Miss Fanshawe squeezed Mrs. Purling’s hand affectionately.

“I like him, I confess.  More’s the pity.  I’m sure he detests me.”

“As if it were possible!”

“Trust a girl to find out whether she’s appreciated.  Mr. Purling, for my sins, positively dislikes me; or else he has seen some one already to whom he has given his heart.”

Mrs. Purling shook her head sadly, remembering artful Dolly Driver.

“You do not know all your son’s secrets; no mother does.”

“I do know this one, I fear.”

And then Mrs. Purling described the absurd mistake in identity.

“You are not angry?” she went on.  “For my part, I was furious.  But nothing shall come of it, I solemnly declare.  Harold will hardly risk my serious displeasure; but he shall know that, sooner than accept this creature as my daughter, I would banish him for ever from my sight.”

“It will not come to that, I trust,” said Phillipa, earnestly, and with every appearance of good faith.

“Not if you will help me, as I know you will.”

Mrs. Purling was resolved now to issue positive orders for Harold to marry Miss Fanshawe—­out of hand.  But next day Phillipa suddenly announced her intention of returning to town.

“You promised to stay at least a month.”  The heiress was in tears.

“I am heartily sorry; but Caecilia—­Lady Gayfeather—­is ill and alone.  I must go to her at once.”