Mr. Francis Barold was silent for a second, and a slightly reflective
expression flitted across his face.

"Thanks, yes," he said at last. "Certainly. It is easy to come down, and
I should like to see more of Slowbridge."

When the train had puffed in and out of the station, and Dobson was
driving down High Street again, her ladyship's feelings rather got the
better of her.

"If Belinda Bassett is a wise woman," she remarked, "she will take my
advice, and get rid of this young lady as soon as possible. It appears to
me," she continued, with exalted piety, "that every well-trained English
girl has reason to thank her Maker that she was born in a civilized
land."

"Perhaps," suggested Lucia softly, "Miss Octavia Bassett has had no one
to train her at all; and it may be that--that she even feels it deeply."

The feathers in her ladyship's bonnet trembled.

"She does not feel it at all!" she announced. "She is an
impertinent--minx!"




CHAPTER VIII.