o sit there, and should be better on chairs.
But we liked the rug best."

"What had you used to talk of?"

"Of everything, I think. About the poor; Mr. Cust's poor, you know; and
the village, and our studies, and--But I don't think I must tell you
that," broke off Lucy, laughing merrily at her own thoughts.

"Yes, you may," said Lionel.

"It was about that poor old German teacher of ours. We used to play her
such tricks, and it was round the fire that we planned them. But she is
very good," added Lucy, becoming serious, and lifting her eyes to
Lionel, as if to bespeak his sympathy for the German teacher.

"Is she?"

"She was always patient and kind. The first time Lady Verner lets me go
to a shop, I mean to buy her a warm winter cloak. Hers is so thin. Do
you think I could get her one for two pounds?"

"I don't know at all," smiled Lionel. "A greatcoat for me would cost
more than two pounds."

"I have two sovereigns left of my pocket-money, besides some silver. I
hope it will buy a cloak. It is Lady Verner who will have the management
of my money, is it not, now that I have left Mrs. Cust's?"

"I believe so."

"I wonder how much she will allow me for myself?" continued Lucy, gazing
up at Lionel with a serious expression of inquiry, as if the question
were a momentous one.

"I think cloaks for old teachers ought to be apart," cried Lionel. "They
should not come out of your pocket-money."

"Oh, but I like them to do so. I wish I had a home of my own!--as I
shall have when papa returns to Europe. I should invite her to me for
the holidays, and give her nice dinners always, and buy her some nice
clothes, and send her back with her poor old heart happy."

"Invite whom?"

"Fraulein Mueller. Her father was a gentleman of good position, and he
somehow lost his inheritance. When he died she found it out--there was
not a shilling for her, instead of a fortune, as she had always thought.
She was over forty then, and she had to come to England and begin
teaching for a living. She is fifty now, and nearly all she gets she
sends to Heidelberg to her poor sick sister. I wonder how much good warm
cloaks do cost?"

Lucy Tempest spoke the last sentence dreamily. She was evidently
debating the question in her own mind. Her small white hands rested
inertly upon her pink dress, her clear face with its delicate bloom was
still, her eyes were bent on the fire. But that Lionel's heart was
elsewhere, it might have gone out,