“Miss Lisle,” she said, “you will not know me, but I know Lady Frederica very well, and have stayed at Castle St. Quentin. I am Katharine Morrell.”

“Mr. Fenton told me about you,” Sydney said, brightening instantly. Speaking to another girl felt like meeting a countryman in a strange and savage land. “Do you live near?” she added eagerly.

“Some distance off; at Donisbro’,” she said; “my father is the Dean of Donisbro’ Cathedral.[81] I hear you are coming to the calisthenic class at Lady Helmsley’s. Perhaps I shall see something of you, for I am taking a little cousin to it.”

[81]

“I am so glad you will be there,” Sydney said, brightening still more. The girl had a lovely face, she thought, its slight look of sadness only adding to its beauty. She was like some bygone saint.

“I am busy choosing a picture,” said Miss Morrell, “and you are, of course, on the same errand. I am executing a commission for my father; perhaps you are for your cousin? By the way, how is he?”

“He has been worse, but seems better these last few days,” Sydney answered, rather doubtfully. “Dr. Lorry never tells us much about him.”

“They never do,” Miss Morrell said, in a low voice. “We are left to eat our hearts out in ignorance, because, forsooth, they think a woman cannot bear the truth. Oh, how much easier it would be if we might know, and care, and be miserable if we wished!”

Sydney felt vaguely puzzled. Miss Morrell had spoken quietly, but her voice vibrated, as though the words she spoke were almost forced from her, and, as she turned away at the[82] shopman’s approach, the girl saw her hands were shaking. But, after that outburst, her manner returned to its usual calm, and she busied herself with real kindness in helping Sydney in that difficult thing—choice.

[82]

Four charming prints in sepia of well-known pictures were at length decided on, and the man managed to fit them with frames from his store, while Sydney was giving her opinion on the comparative merits of “The Angelus” in sepia or black-and-white for the benefit of her new friend.

“You must come and have some tea with me at Grayson’s before you drive home,” said Miss Morrell, when both had paid for their pictures, and Sydney’s had been placed in the brougham. “Oh, yes, you must: you cannot possibly be back at the Castle till long past tea time, and I have to wait for papa, who is at a 

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