- viated nod, backed by an intent smile peculiarly her own.
There might be courtesy carried to the verge of homage on the one side, but on the other was an aloofness cold and quizzical.
As soon as Blanche and Marjorie had gained the ample precincts of Bridport House each looked demurely at the other, and then yielded a laugh, which seemed to mean a great deal more than it expressed.
"Been to see papa, I suppose," said Blanche, as she waddled duck fashion towards a white marble staircase of grandiose design, whose cinquecento air could not save it from a slight suspicion of the rococo.
"My dear!" came Marjorie's crescendo.
Again they looked at each other, again their laughter snarled and crackled not unpleasantly.
At one o'clock luncheon was announced. Ten minutes later a well-bathed and carefully re-clothed Marjorie and a Blanche to match entered an enormous dining-room, which, in spite of its profusion of servants in livery, had the air of a crypt.
"Good morning, father. Very pleasant to see you down."
Each word of Blanche was charmingly punctuated by a little pause, which might have been taken for filial regard by those who heard it. But the rather acid-looking gentleman, who sat at the head of the table, with a face like a cameo a little out of drawing, and a bowl of arrowroot in front of him, paid such slight attention to Blanche that she might not have spoken at all.
"Good morning, Aunt Charlotte," said Marjorie coolly, taking up her own cue. She surveyed the other occu-
