‘Do you think, dear Mrs. Fordyce,’ she asked one day, when they happened to be alone together at Bourhill,—­’do you think the house could be ready for me by the end of September, when you return to Glasgow?’

‘It will be ready, of course; there is really very little to do now,’ replied Mrs. Fordyce.  ‘But why do you ask?’

’Why, because if it is ready, then I need not go up with you.  You have been very kind—­I can never, never forget it; but, of course, when I have a home of my own it would not be right of me to trespass any longer on your kindness,’ said Gladys thoughtfully.

Mrs. Fordyce could not forbear a smile.

’How old are you, my dear?  I do not know that I have ever heard your age exactly.’

‘I shall be eighteen next month.’

’Eighteen next month?—­not a very responsible age.  Is it possible, my dear, that you feel perfectly fit to take possession here, that you would have no tremors regarding your lonely position and your responsibility?’

’I have no such feeling, Mrs. Fordyce.  I could live here quite well.  Is there any reason why I should not?’ she asked, observing the doubtful expression on the face of her kind friend.

’It is quite impossible, my dear, whatever your feelings may be,—­altogether out of the question that you should live here alone.’

’But tell me why?  I am not a child.  I have always seemed to occupy a responsible position, where I have had to think and act for myself.’

’Yes, you have; but your position is entirely altered now.  It would not be proper for you to live in this great house alone, with no company but that of servants.  Mr. Fordyce would but poorly fulfil his promise to your poor uncle if he entertained such an idea for a moment.  If you are to live at Bourhill at all, you must have a responsible person to live with you.  But we had other plans for you.’

‘Tell me what plans, please,’ said Gladys, with that simple directness which made evasion of any question impossible to her, or to any conversing with her.

’Mr. Fordyce and I have thought that it would be to your advantage to winter abroad.  I have an old school-friend, who married a French officer, and who is now left widowed in poor circumstances in Bruges.  You would be most happy and comfortable with Madame Bonnemain.  She is one of the sweetest and most charming of women, musical and cultured; her companionship would be invaluable to you.’

’I do not think I wish to go abroad, meanwhile.  Would you and Mr. Fordyce think it ungrateful if I refused to go?’

‘Well, no,’ replied Mrs. Fordyce, though with a slight accent of surprise.  ‘But can you tell me what is your objection?’

‘I want to come here and live just as soon as it is possible,’ said Gladys, looking round the dismantled house with wistful, affectionate eyes.  ’I want to have my very own house; I can never feel that it is mine until I live in it; and I have many plans.’