year."

The colour leapt to Marcella's cheek as she tied on her hat.

"You will set up another keeper, and you won't do anything for the
village?" she cried, her black eyes lightening, and without another word
she opened the French window and walked rapidly away along the terrace,
leaving her father both angered and amazed.

A man like Richard Boyce cannot get comfortably through life without a
good deal of masquerading in which those in his immediate neighbourhood
are expected to join. His wife had long since consented to play the
game, on condition of making it plain the whole time that she was no
dupe. As to what Marcella's part in the affair might be going to be, her
father was as yet uneasily in the dark. What constantly astonished him,
as she moved and talked under his eye, was the girl's beauty. Surely she
had been a plain child, though a striking one. But now she had not only
beauty, but the air of beauty. The self-confidence given by the
possession of good looks was very evident in her behaviour. She was very
accomplished, too, and more clever than was always quite agreeable to a
father whose self-conceit was one of the few compensations left him by
misfortune. Such a girl was sure to be admired. She would have
lovers--friends of her own. It seemed that already, while Lord Maxwell
was preparing to insult the father, his grandson had discovered that the
daughter was handsome. Richard Boyce fell into a miserable reverie,
wherein the Raeburns' behaviour and Marcella's unexpected gifts played
about equal parts.

* * * * *