"Of course I'm a loving daughter, but I----"

"For goodness sake don't have any more buts. Write or dictate, whichever you please."

"I'll write if I must, but really--I don't suppose father will care to come."

"Doesn't he care for you, then?"

"Care for me? What a thing to say. Of course he cares for me."

"Then he'll come. Now, I give you five minutes. Write the letter, and I'll take it out and post it."

Nora muttered and grumbled, but Antonia's perfectly motionless figure, as she sat in an easy chair facing her, was too much to be resisted. She took up a pen, dipped it in ink, and began to write.

"Do it lovingly," said Antonia; "put heart into it; show that you're a daughter."

Mrs. Bernard Temple motioned Annie to come and sit near her.

"Really," she said in a whisper, "poor Antonia becomes more peculiar and trying each day. She simply bullies us all. Look at that poor dear little Nora, submitting to her caprice as gently as a lamb. I don't know why she wants Squire Lorrimer to come here. I am not acquainted with him, and it will be really painful for me to see him in his present afflicted condition. I am a very cheerful person by nature, and hate depressing circ.u.mstances."

"I am sorry you are not sympathetic," answered Annie.

Mrs. Bernard Temple raised her brows.

"Sympathetic," she exclaimed; "my dear, I'm the soul--the very soul of sympathy; but where's the use of wasting emotion? I can do nothing for Squire Lorrimer, and it will only pain poor Nora to see him. Really, really, Antonia is beyond anything afflicting. Now, my love, where are you going?"

The latter part of this speech was addressed to Miss Bernard Temple, who was leaving the room. "Where are you going, Antonia, my love?" repeated her mother.

"Out, mother; to post this letter."

"I beg of you to do nothing of the kind. I can send it by William, when next he goes for a message."

William was a very diminutive, and much overworked, page-boy.

"Thanks," said Antonia; "but I prefer to go myself."

She left the room, shutting the door rather noisily; and Mrs. Bernard Temple looked for sympathy to the two girls.

"Is not she trying?" she repeated. "With my mind so preoccupied with thoughts of my approaching marriage, and of dear Sir John, and those sweet girls, Hester and Nan; it is really too much to be worried by Antonia's whims."

"Oh, but she means everything splendidly," said Annie. "I admire her beyond anything. If you will let me, Mrs. Bernard Temple, I will go out with her."

"Oh, certainly, my dear. I see you are under her spell, so I have nothing to say. Dear Nora and I will try to make ourselves happy together."

Annie left the room, and met Antonia in the hall.

"Wait one moment, Antonia," she said; "I'll go with you."

She ran upstairs, fetched her hat and gloves, and joined Antonia. The two girls went into the street.

"I'm determined that no pranks shall be played with this letter," said Antonia; "so I intend not to post it, but to take it to the Carlton myself."

"Antonia, is that right?"

"Right--what can there be wrong in it? There is no one who will eat me at the Carlton. I shall simply give the letter to the hall-porter, and desire him to put it into Mr. Lorrimer's hands the moment he appears.

Now, come on, if you are coming. You can stay in the street while I interview the porter."

"But the post seems safer and easier," said Annie.

"Well, I don't think so. Come, come; what are you loitering for?"

As was universally the case, Antonia's strong will prevailed.

She knew London thoroughly, and followed by the somewhat breathless Annie, in due course reached the Carlton Club.

She had run up the steps, entered the hall, interviewed the porter, delivered her letter, and once more joined Annie, when the latter said to her in a voice of suppressed excitement--

"There is Squire Lorrimer; that man with the bent head and hat pushed over his eyes. He pa.s.sed the club while you were within. There he is, just turning the corner."

"Run after him and stop him," exclaimed Antonia. "Quick, quick--I'll fetch the letter out while you're catching him up."

"Oh, I don't like to," said Annie.

"What a goose you are--then I'll do it--he'll be lost to view if we wait another instant arguing. Is it that rather old man who walks slowly?

Yes, yes, I see him. Stay where you are and I'll bring him back to you."

Before Annie could interfere, Antonia had hastened forward with long strides, which she soon quickened into a run. She reached Mr. Lorrimer, and gave one of his coat sleeves a fierce tug.

He started, took off his hat instinctively, and then stared in amazement at the wild-looking girl, whose face was completely unknown to him.

"Oh, yes, you think I'm mad," said Antonia, "but I'm not. I'm about as sane as anyone in England. You are Mr. Lorrimer, and you're afraid to go home, and your family are in dreadful trouble. I'm Antonia Bernard Temple; yes, it's a long unwieldy sort of name, but I have the misfortune to own it. If I'm a diamond at all, I'm a rough sort; very rough and uncouth, but I mean well. My mother is engaged to Sir John Thornton, and we have been staying at the Grange, and I have seen your magnificent untrammelled old place, with its briars, and dragon china, and I, in short--I have seen Nell. Nell is in trouble, and my heart has gone out to her; and Nora is in town staying with us, with my mother and me, and she wants to see you, naturally; so please come home with me now. Please turn round and come to the Carlton first. There's a letter there for you from Nora. Come and see her, and hear about Nell and Molly."

There was the queerest mixture of every sort of emotion in Antonia's wild, disjointed speech; but above it all was an overpowering earnestness, which somehow attracted the poor, forlorn-looking Squire.

"You are a very queer young lady," he said.

"Oh, they all say that," exclaimed Antonia clasping her hands. "I beg of you not to be commonplace; do come home with me."

"But somehow you seem to know all about my people," he continued. "Is it possible that Nora is in town? Yes, I'll go and see her. Where is she?"

"Come with me and I'll take you to the house. It's in a most poky, fashionable part--an odious locality, where poor Art hides her head.

Just walk back with me to meet Annie Forest, and to get your letter.

You know Annie Forest, don't you?"

"I have met her."

"Well, she's waiting close to the Carlton Club for us both; and we can't leave her there, you know; come quickly."

The Squire turned.