Next afternoon, about two o'clock, Alan called with a tremulous
heart at the cottage. Herminia had heard not a little of him
meanwhile from her friend Mrs. Dewsbury. "He's a charming young
man, my dear," the woman of the world observed with confidence.
"I felt quite sure you'd attract one another. He's so clever and
advanced, and everything that's dreadful,--just like yourself,
Herminia. But then he's also very well connected. That's always
something, especially when one's an oddity. You wouldn't go down
one bit yourself, dear, if you weren't a dean's daughter. The
shadow of a cathedral steeple covers a multitude of sins. Mr.
Merrick's the son of the famous London gout doctor,--you MUST know
his name,--all the royal dukes flock to him. He's a barrister
himself, and in excellent practice. You might do worse, do you
know, than to go in for Alan Merrick."

Herminia's lip curled an almost imperceptible curl as she answered
gravely, "I don't think you quite understand my plans in life, Mrs.
Dewsbury. It isn't my present intention to GO IN for anybody."

But Mrs. Dewsbury shook her head. She knew the world she lived in.
"Ah, I've heard a great many girls talk like that beforehand," she
answered at once with her society glibness; "but when the right man
turned up, they soon forgot their protestations. It makes a lot of
difference, dear, when a man really asks you!"