I don't think I had ever tasted an English melon before, and this one was certainly in superb condition. I rejoiced in its cool freshness and ate two or three slices, while father watched me, a pleased smile round his lips.

"I am going to take you to Lady Helen this morning, Heather."

"Yes, father," I answered, and I put down my last piece of melon, feeling that my appetite for the delicious fruit had suddenly faded.

"Why don't you finish your fruit, child?"

"I have had enough," I said.

"That's a bad habit," said my father, "besides being bad form. Well-bred girls invariably finish what is put on their plates; I want you to be well-bred, my dear. You'll have so much to do with Lady Helen in the future that you must take advantage of a connection of that sort. Besides, being your father's daughter, it also behoves you to act as a lady."

"I hope I shall always act as a lady," I said, and I felt my cheeks growing crimson and a feeling of hatred rising within me towards Lady Helen; "but if acting as a lady," I continued, "means eating more than is good for you, I don't see it, father, and I may as well tell you so first as last."

"Bless you, child," said father, "bless you! I don't want to annoy you. Now, I'll tell you what your day is to be. Lady Helen will take you and get you measured for some smart dresses, and then you are to lunch at the Carringtons. Lady Carrington has been kind enough to send round this morning to invite you. She and Sir John are staying at their very smart house at Prince's Gate, Kensington. Lady Helen will put you down there in her motor, and then she and I will call for you later in the day. You will enjoy being with Lady Carrington. She is the sort of woman you ought to cultivate."

"Lady Carrington used to live not far from Hill View," I said. "Once I met her and she – she was going to be kind to me, when Aunt Penelope stepped in and prevented it."

"Eh, dear," said my father, "now what was that? Tell me that story."

I did not like to, but he insisted. I described in as few words as possible my agony of mind after parting with him, and then my determination to find Anastasia, who, according to his own saying, was to come by the next train. I told him once again how I ran away and how I reached the railway station, and how the train came in and Lady Carrington spoke to me, as also did Sir John, but there was no Anastasia, and then Aunt Penelope came up, and – and – I remembered no more.

"You were a troublesome little mite that day," said my father, kissing me as he spoke, and pinching my cheek. "Well do I recall the frenzy your poor aunt was in, and the telegrams and messages that came for me; well do I recollect the hunt I had for Anastasia, and how at last I found her and brought her to see you, and how you quieted down when she sat by your bedside. Well do I remember how often I sat there, too."

"I remember it, too," I said, "only very dimly, just like a far-off dream. But, father, dear father, why didn't Anastasia stay?"

"Your aunt would not have her, child."

"And why didn't you stay? Why did you come when I could not recognise you and keep away when I could?"

"Noblesse oblige," was his answer, and he hung his head a little and looked depressed.

But just then there came a rustling, cheerful sound in the passage outside, and Lady Helen, her dress as gorgeous as it was the night before, with a very outré picture hat, fastened at one side of her head, and with her eyes as bright as two stars, entered the room. She floated rather than walked up to father's side, took his two hands, then dropped them, and said, in her high-pitched, very staccato voice:

"How do you do, Major? You see, I could not wait, but have come for the dear little ingénue. I am quite ready to take you off, Heather, and to supply you with the very prettiest clothes. Your father has given me carte blanche to do as I please – is not that so, Major?"

"Yes," answered my father, bowing most gallantly and looking like the very essence of the finest gentleman in the land. "I shall be glad to leave Heather in such good hands. You will see that she is simply dressed, and – oh, I could not leave the matter in better hands. By the way, Lady Helen, I have had a letter this morning from Lady Carrington; she wants the child to lunch with her. Will you add to your many acts of goodness by dropping her at Prince's Gate not later than one o'clock?"

"Certainly," said Lady Helen.

"I shall have lunch ready for you, dear friend," said my father, "at a quarter past one precisely at the Savoy."

"Ah, how quite too sweet!" said Lady Helen. She gave the tips of her fingers to father, who kissed them lightly, and then she desired me to fly upstairs and put on my hat and jacket. When I came down again, dressed to go out, I found Lady Helen and father standing close together and talking in low, impressive tones. The moment I entered the room, however, they sprang apart, and father said:

"Ah, here we are – here we are! Now, my little Heather, keep up that youthful expression; it is vastly becoming. Even Lady Helen cannot give you the look of youth, which is so charming, but she can bestow on you the air of fashion, which is indispensable."

Father conducted us downstairs and opened the door of the luxurious motor-car. Lady Helen requested me to step in first, and then she followed. A direction was given to the chauffeur, the door was shut behind us, father bowed, and stood with his bare, somewhat bald head in the street. The last glimpse I had of him he was smiling and looking quite radiant; then we turned a corner and he was lost to view.

"Well, and what do you think of it all?" said Lady Helen. "Is the little bird in its nest beginning to say, 'Cheep, cheep'? Is it feeling hungry and wanting to see the world?"

"All places are the world," I answered, somewhat sententiously.

"For goodness' sake, child," said Lady Helen, "don't talk in that prim fashion! Whatever you are in the future, don't put on airs to me. You are about the most ignorant little creature I ever came across – it will be my pleasure to form and mould you, and to bring you at last to that state of perfection which alone is considered befitting to the modern girl. My dear, I mean to be very good to you."

"That is, I suppose, because you are so fond of father," I said.

She coloured a little, and the hand which she had laid for a moment lightly on my hand was snatched away.

"That kind of remark is terribly outré," she said; "but I shall soon correct all that, my dear. You won't know yourself in one month from the present time. Child of nature, indeed! You will be much more likely to be the child of art. But dress is the great accessory. Before we begin to form style and manner we must be dressed to suit our part in this world's mummer show."

The car drew up before a large and fashionable shop. Lady Helen and I entered. Lady Helen did all the talking, and many bales of wonderful goods, glistening and shining in the beautiful sun, were brought forward for her inspection. Lady Helen chose afternoon dresses, morning dresses, evening dresses; she chose these things by the half-dozen. I tried to expostulate, and to say they would never be worn out; Lady Helen's remark was that they would scarcely drag me through the season. Then I pleaded father's poverty; I whispered to Lady Helen: "Father cannot afford them."

She looked at me out of her quizzical dark eyes and, laying her hand on my shoulder, said:

"You may be quite sure of one thing, little girl – that I won't allow your father to run into unnecessary expense."

I began to be sick of dresses. I found myself treated as a little nobody, I was twisted right way front, and wrong way back. I was made to look over my right shoulder at my own reflection in a long mirror; I was desired to stoop and to stand upright; I was given a succession of mirrors to look through; I got deadly tired of my own face.

When the choosing of the dresses had come to an end there were stockings and shoes and boots to be purchased, and one or two very dainty little jackets, and then there was a wealth of lovely chinchilla fur, and a little toque to match, and afterwards hats – hats to match every costume; in addition to which there was a very big white hat with a huge ostrich plume, and a black hat with a plume nearly as big. Gloves were bestowed upon me by the dozen. I felt giddy, and could scarcely at last take the slightest interest in my own wardrobe. Suddenly Lady Helen looked at her watch, uttered an exclamation, and said:

"Oh, dear me! It is ten minutes past one! What am I to do? I must not fail your father at the Savoy. Do you think, child, if I put you into a hansom, you could drive to the house at Prince's Gate? I would give all directions to the driver."

"I am sure I could," I answered.

I was not at all afraid of London, knowing nothing of its dangers.

"Then that is much the best thing to do," said Lady Helen. She turned to a man who was a sort of porter at the big shop, and gave him exact orders what he was to do and what he was to say. A hansom was called, the cabman was paid by Lady Helen herself, and at last I was off and alone.

I was glad of this. I had a great sense of relief when that patched-up, faded, and yet still beautiful face was no longer near me. When I reached the house at Prince's Gate I felt rested and refreshed. There was a servant in very smart livery standing in the hall, and of him I ventured to inquire if Lady Carrington were at home.

"Is your name, madam, Miss Heather Grayson?" inquired the man.

I replied at once in the affirmative.

"Then her ladyship is expecting you. I will take you to her."

He moved across a wide and beautifully carpeted hall, knocked at a door at the further end, and, in answer to the words "Come in," flung the door open and announced "Miss Grayson, your ladyship," whereupon I found myself on the threshold of a wonderful and delightfully home-like room. A lady, neither young nor old, had risen as the man appeared. She came eagerly forward – not at all with the eagerness of Lady Helen, but with the eagerness of one who gives a sincere welcome. Her large brown eyes seemed to express the very soul of benevolence.

"I am glad to see you, dear," she said. "How are you? Sit down on this sofa, won't you? You must rest for a minute or two and then I will take you upstairs myself, and you shall wash your hands and brush your hair before lunch. It is nice to see you again, little Heather. Do you know that all the long years you lived at High View I have been wanting, and wanting in vain, to make your acquaintance?"

"Oh, but what can you mean?" I asked, looking into that charming and beautiful face and wondering what the lady was thinking of. "Would not Aunt Penelope let you? Surely you must have known that I should have been only too proud?"

"My dear, we won't discuss what your aunt wished to conceal from you. Now that you have come to live with your father, and now that you are my near neighbour, I hope to see a great deal of you. Your aunt was doubtless right in keeping you a good deal to herself. You see, dear, it's like this. You have been brought up unspotted from the world."

"I like the world," I answered; "I don't think it's a bad place. I am very much interested in London, and I am exceedingly glad to have met you again. Don't you remember, Lady Carrington, how tightly I held your hand on that dreadful day when I was first brought to Aunt Penelope?"

"I shall never forget the pressure of your little hand. But now I see you are quite ready to come upstairs. Come along, then – Sir John may be in at any moment, and he never likes to have his lunch kept waiting."

Lady Carrington's beautiful bedroom was exactly over her sitting-room. There I saw myself in a sort of glow of colour, all lovely and iridescent and charming. There was something remarkable about the room, for it had a strange gift of putting grace – yes, absolute grace – into your clothes. Even my shabby brown frock seemed to be illuminated, and as to my face, it glowed with faint colour, and my eyes became large and bright. I washed my hands and brushed back my soft, dark hair. Then I returned to the drawing-room with Lady Carrington.