'Yes, an awful crowd.'

While answering Mina, Miss Julia inclined her head in recognition of Gladys, to whom Clara introduced her. The slightest possible surprise betrayed itself in the uplifting of her straight brows, as her keen, flashing eyes took in every detail of the girl's appearance. Needless to say, the new inmate of the lawyer's household had been freely discussed by the Pollokshields Fordyces, and it was in reality curiosity to see her which had brought them to Bellairs Crescent that afternoon.

'I should just say it was a crowd,' added George, giving his immaculate moustache a pull. 'I was sorry for Stuart, poor beggar. Really, though a fellow marries, he should not be subjected to an ordeal like you. I don't see anything to hinder a fellow's wife from receiving folks herself. It's an awful bore on a fellow, you know.'

He spoke languidly, and all the time from under his drooping lids surveyed the slender figure and fair face of Gladys. She was so different from the brilliant and showy young ladies he met in the society they moved in, that he was filled with a secret admiration.

'So the unfortunate young woman who marries you, George, may know what to expect. Do you hear that, girls? Be warned in time,' cried Mina. 'Won't you take off your cloak, Julia, and stay a little? Mother and tea will be here directly.'

'I daresay we have half an hour—have we, George? You are not going back to the mill, are you?'

'Not I; my nose has been pretty much at the grindstone for the last month. And now, girls, what's the best of your news? We're waiting to be entertained. How do you like the West End of Glasgow, Miss Graham?'

'Very much, thank you,' answered Gladys, and somehow she could not help speaking distantly. There was something about the young man she did not like. Had she looked at Clara just then she would have seen her eyes filled with a lovely, wavering light, while a half-trembling consciousness was infused into her whole appearance. These signs to the observant are not difficult to read. Clara loved her handsome cousin, and unfortunately he was not blind to the fact.

'We are going to Troon first week in May, Julia,' she said quickly. 'Has Aunt Margaret thought or spoken of your going yet?'

'She has spoken of it, but we haven't encouraged it,' replied Julia languidly, as she drew off one of her perfectly-fitting gloves, and displayed a long firm white hand, sparkling with diamonds. 'I know she has written to the housekeeper to have Seaview aired, but I suppose it depends on the weather.'