least, I fancy she would. But
there's that old West! I may have a battle over it with him."

He flung away what remained in his hand of the sticks, leaped off the
gate, and bent his steps hastily in the direction of Deerham. Could he
be going, there and then, to Dr. West's, to try his fate with Sibylla?
Very probably. Frederick Massingbird liked to deliberate well when
making up his mind to a step; but, that once done, he was wont to lose
no time in carrying it out.

On this same afternoon, and just about the same hour, Lionel Verner was
strolling through Deerham on his way to pay a visit to his mother. Close
at the door he encountered Decima--well, now--and Miss Tempest, who were
going out. None would have believed Lionel and Decima to be brother and
sister, judging by their attire--he wore deep mourning, she had not a
shred of mourning about her. Lady Verner, in her prejudice against
Verner's Pride, had neither put on mourning herself for John
Massingbird, nor allowed Decima to put it on. Lionel was turning with
them; but Lady Verner, who had seen him from the window, sent a servant
to desire him to come to her.

"Is it anything particular, mother?" he hastily inquired. "I am going
with Decima and Lucy."

"It is so far particular, Lionel, that I wish you to stay with me,
instead of going with them," answered Lady Verner. "I fancy you are
getting rather fond of being with Lucy, and--and--in short, it won't
do."

Lionel, in his excessive astonishment, could only stare at his mother.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Lucy Tempest! What won't do?"

"You are beginning to pay Lucy Tempest particular attention," said Lady
Verner, unscrewing the silver stopper of her essence-bottle, and
applying some to her forehead. "I will not permit it, Lionel."

Lionel could not avoid laughing.

"What can have put such a thing in your head, mother, I am at a loss to
conceive. Certainly nothing in my conduct has induced it. I have talked
to Lucy as a child, more than as anything else; I have scarcely thought
of her but as one----"

"Lucy is not a child," interrupted Lady Verner.

"In years I find she is not. When I first saw her at the
railway-station, I thought she was a child, and the impression somehow
remains upon my mind. Too often I talk to her as one. As to anything
else--were I to marry to-morrow, it is not Lucy Tempest I should make my
wife."

The first glad look that Lionel had seen on Lady Verner's face for many
a