"She is my cousin; besides there is a chaperone, Mrs. Haigh, or I'll call in the cook."
"Do you mean to set me at defiance?"
"I mean to do what I consider right, even although my views may not coincide with yours, mother."
For the rest of the day, indeed, Harold never left his newly-found cousin's side. The heiress fumed and fretted, and scolded, but all in vain. There was a new kind of masterfulness about her son which for the moment she was powerless to resist.
"Of course she will dine with us," Harold said. And of course she did, although Mrs. Purling looked as if she wished every mouthful would choke her. Of course Harold called her Dolly to her face; was she not his cousin? Quite as naturally he would have given her a cousinly kiss when he said good-night, but something in her pure eyes and modest face restrained him.
Certainly she was the nicest girl he had ever met in his life.
"Where's Doll?" he asked next morning at breakfast. "Not down?"
"Miss Driver is half-way to London, I hope," replied Mrs. Purling, curtly. She was not a bad general, and had taken prompt measures already to recover from her temporary reverse.
"I shall go after her."
"If you do, you need not trouble to return."