“How do you do, Mr Breen?  How is Bruce?  But I see how well he is, and happy—­thanks to you.  I am so sorry I did not have the pleasure of seeing your mother and sister when they were so kind as to call the other day; but I did not know they were in the house till they were gone.”

He glowed with joy.  He clasped her hand with a vigour that made it tingle for a minute afterwards.

“I was sorry too,” he said.  “My old mater is a good soul.  I think you and she—­I wanted her to see you.  Another time, perhaps—­”

“Oh, I hope so!  We are such near neighbours.”  She was ready to say anything that would make him feel he was not being treated as a shopman.  “And did you have your day’s shooting?  Were you successful?” “Well,” with modest pride, “I came upon snipe unexpectedly, and brought home a couple of brace.  If I had thought you would condescend to accept them, Miss Pennycuick—­if I had dared—­”

“Oh, thank you very much, but I could not have let you rob your mother—­”

Conscious of heightened colour, and several pairs of watching eyes, Rose hastily put out her hand.  Peter took it respectfully, slightly abashed.

“Can I—­is there anything—­anything I can do for you?”

“Yes, please,” she said, struggling to remember what it was.  “Some—­er —­lace—­torchon—­for my sister; that is what I came for.”  “This way,” said Peter gently; and they walked down the long, narrow shop together, closely scrutinised by the young women behind the counters.  Two or three of these, with ingratiating smirks, converged upon the spot where their young chief halted and called aloud for torchon lace.  The favoured one brought forth the stock, unexpectedly large and valuable, and the girl was soon able to make her choice.  She wanted one dozen yards, and there was a piece of fourteen that Peter styled a “remnant” for her benefit.  If he could have presented it to her free of cost, he would have loved to do so; as it was, she made an excellent bargain.

“I only hope they won’t ask me where I got it,” she said to herself on the way home.  Happily, they did not.  The usual Buckley was taken for granted, and Deb slashed up the lace without noticing that she had fourteen yards for twelve.

But Rose was a poor schemer, and it was inevitable that she should soon be found out.

The sisters were gathered about their window table in the attic room on the following afternoon.  Keziah had brought their tea, and amid the litter of their needlework they drank it leisurely, enjoying a spell of rest.  Both casements stood wide.  Deb, at one end, gazed wistfully at the Malvern Hills; Frances, at the other, looked down on objects nearer home.  Rose had purposely drawn her chair back farther into the room.  A joyous bark arose.

“There’s your young man, Rose,” said Frances flippantly.  “Really, the dandy has surpassed himself.  Knickerbockers and a Norfolk jacket, if you please!  Why, actually a horse!  He is going out to ride.  This it is to be a counter-jumper in these levelling times!”