heiress of no slight consideration.  Young men of Polterham regarded her as the greatest prize within view, though none could flatter himself that he stood in any sensible degree of favour with her.  There seemed no reason why Miss Mumbray should not marry, but it was certain that as yet she behaved disdainfully to all who approached her with the show of intention.  She was not handsome, but had agreeable features.  As though to prove her contempt of female vanity and vulgar display, she dressed plainly, often carelessly—­a fact which of course served to emphasize her importance in the eyes of people who tried to seem richer than they were.

Miss Glazzard rarely came into the town, but Serena visited Highmead at least once a week.  According to the state of the weather, the friends either sat talking in Ivy’s room or rambled about the grounds, where many a pretty and sheltered spot was discoverable.  At such times the master of the house seldom showed himself, and, on the whole, Highmead reminded one of a mansion left in the care of servants whilst the family are abroad.  Miss Mumbray was surprised when, on her arrival one afternoon, she was conducted into the presence of three persons, who sat conversing in the large drawing-room.  With Ivy and her father was a gentleman whose identity she could only guess; he proved to be Mr. Eustace Glazzard, her friend’s uncle.

To the greetings with which she was received Serena responded formally.  It happened that her attire was to-day even more careless than usual, for, the weather being wet and cold, she had just thrown a cloak over the frock in which she lounged at home, and driven out in a cab with the thought of stepping directly into Ivy’s sanctum.  So far from this, she found herself under the scrutiny of two well-dressed men, whose faces, however courteous, manifested the signature of a critical spirit.  The elder Mr. Glazzard was bald, wrinkled, and of aristocratic bearing; he wore gold-rimmed glasses, which accentuated the keenness of his gaze.  The younger man, though altogether less formidable, had a smile which Miss Mumbray instinctively resented; he seemed to be regarding her with some special interest, and it was clear that her costume did not escape mental comment.

Ivy did her best to overcome the restraint of the situation, and for a quarter of an hour something like conversation was maintained, but, of a sudden, Miss Mumbray rose.

“We will go to my room,” said Ivy, regarding her nervously.

“Thank you,” was the reply, “I mustn’t stay longer to-day.”

“Oh, why not?  But indeed you must come for a moment; I have something to show you”

Serena took leave of the gentlemen, and with show of reluctance suffered herself to be led to the familiar retreat.

“I’m afraid I have displeased you,” Ivy addressed her, when the door was closed.  “I ought to have asked your permission.”

“It doesn’t matter, dear—­not a bit.  But I wasn’t quite in the humour for—­for that kind of thing.  I came here for quietness, as I always do.”