‘We are going to Troon first week in May, Julia,’ she said quickly.  ’Has Aunt Margaret thought or spoken of your going yet?’

‘She has spoken of it, but we haven’t encouraged it,’ replied Julia languidly, as she drew off one of her perfectly-fitting gloves, and displayed a long firm white hand, sparkling with diamonds.  ’I know she has written to the housekeeper to have Seaview aired, but I suppose it depends on the weather.’

’If you are all going down, it wouldn’t be half bad, Julia.  We must see what the mater says.  Does Miss Graham go with you?’

‘Of course,’ replied Clara, with a smiling glance at Gladys.

She replied by an answering smile, so swift and lovely that George Fordyce looked at her with a sudden access of admiration.  Gladys shrank just a little under the continued persistence of his gaze; and when he saw it, it added a new zest to his interest in her.  He was accustomed to find his admiration or attention always acceptable to the young ladies of his acquaintance, and the demeanour of Gladys was at once new and interesting to him.  He determined to cultivate her acquaintance, and to awaken that fair, statuesque maiden into life.

Just then tea came up, and, rising lazily, he began to make himself useful to his cousin Clara, murmuring some nonsense to her over the tea-table, which deepened the lovely light in her eyes.  He enjoyed seeing the delicate colour deepening in her face, and excused himself for bringing it there on the ground of cousinship.  But when he carried her cup to Gladys, he remained by her side, while Julia entertained the other two with a description of the bride’s drawing-room and reception gown.

‘It’s an awful romance, Miss Graham, upon my word it is,’ began George, standing with his back to the others, and looking down most impressively into the girl’s face,—­’your story, I mean, of course.  Uncle Tom has told us how you, the heiress of Bourhill, have lived in the slums—­positively the slums, wasn’t it?’

Now, though his words were not particularly well chosen or in good taste, his manner was so impressively sympathetic that Gladys felt insensibly influenced by it.  And he was very handsome, and it was quite pleasant to have him standing there, looking as if there was nobody in the world half so interesting to him as herself.  For the very first time in her life Gladys felt the subtle charm of flattery steal into her soul.

‘I suppose you would call it the slums,’ she answered.  ’My uncle lived in Colquhoun Street.’

’Don’t know it, but I guess it was bad enough, and for you, too, who look fit for a palace.  And did you live there all alone with the old miser?’

’Don’t call him that, please; he was very kind to me, and I cannot bear to hear him hardly spoken of, she said quickly.  ’There were three of us, and we were very happy, though the place was so small and poor.’

‘Who was the third?’