Mrs. Melrose nodded, and Thyrza mounted a chair, and proceeded to put up the curtains, turning an observant eye now and then on the thin-faced lady sitting on the sofa, her long fingers clasped round her knees, and her eyes—­so large and staring as to be rather ugly than beautiful in Thyrza’s opinion—­wandering absently round the room.

“It’s a clashy day,” Thyrza ventured at last.

“It’s a dreadful day,” said Mrs. Melrose sharply.  “Does it always rain like this?”

“Well, it do rain,” was Thyrza’s cautious reply.  “But there that’s better than snowin’—­for t’ shepherds.”

Mrs. Melrose found the girl’s voice pleasant, and could not deny that she was pretty, in her rustic way.

“Has your father many sheep?”

“Aye, but they’re all gone up to t’ fells for t’ winter.  We had a grand time here in September—­at t’ dippin’.  Yo’d never ha’ thowt there was so mony folk about”—­the girl went on, civilly, making talk.

“I never saw a single house, or a single light, on the drive from the station last night,” said Mrs. Melrose, in her fretful voice.  “Where are all the people?”

“Well, there ain’t many!” laughed Thyrza.  “It’s a lonesome place this is.  But when it’s a shearin’, or a dippin’, yo’ unnerstand, farmin’ folk’ll coom a long way to help yan anuther.”

“Are they all farmers about here?”

“Mostly.  Well, there’s Duddon Castle!” Thyrza’s voice, a little muffled by the tin-tacks in the mouth, came from somewhere near the top of a tall window—­“Oh—­an’ I forgot!—­”

In a great hurry the speaker jumped down from her perch, and to Netta’s astonishment ran out of the room.

“What is she about?” thought Mrs. Melrose irritably.  But the question was hardly framed before Thyrza reappeared, holding out her hand, in which lay some visiting-cards.

“I should ha’ given them yo’ before.”

Mrs. Melrose took them with surprise, and read the name.

“Countess Tatham—­who is she?”

“Why it’s she that lives at Duddon Castle.”  Then the girl looked uncertainly at her companion—­“Mr. Tyson did tell me she was a relation of Mr. Melrose.”

“A relation?  I don’t know anything about her,” said Netta decidedly.  “Did she come to call upon me?”

The girl nodded—­“She come over—­it was last Tuesday—­from Duddon, wi’ two lovely horses—­my, they were beauties!  She said she’d come again.”

Netta asked questions.  Lady Tatham, it seemed, was the great lady of the neighbourhood, and Duddon Castle was a splendid old place, that all the visitors went to see.  And there were her cards.  Netta’s thoughts began to hurry thither and thither, and possibilities began to rise.  A relation of Edmund’s?  She made Thyrza tell her all she knew about Duddon and the Tathams.  Visions of being received there, of meeting rich and aristocratic people, of taking her place at last in society, the place that belonged