t she is as hard as a rock when she chooses. When
I get to Hillbrow there won't be two mistresses, I warrant. One of us will
have to give in, and it won't be your humble servant! As I say I am sorry
you have lost your chance of this jaunt. It's a pity, and if I could put in
a good word for you I would. I am on my way now to Penshurst Place to pay
my dutiful respects to my Lady Mary Sidney. My good aunt was not ready when
I started, so I thought to tarry here to await her coming. I hear the
horse's feet, I think, in the lane. I must not make her as cross as two
sticks by keeping her fuming at my delay, so good-day, Mistress Lucy. I am
mightily sorry for you, but I will put in a word for you if I can.'

'I pray you not to mention my name, Mistress Dorothy,' Lucy said. 'You are
quite wrong, I am only waiting for my summons from the Countess, and I am
prepared to start.'

'Not if the summons came now,' Dorothy said, with a disagreeable smile.
'You couldn't ride to Court in homespun, methinks. Her Highness the Queen,
so I hear, is vastly choice about dress, and she has proclaimed that if the
ruffs either of squires or ladies are above a certain height they shall be
clipped down by shearers hired for the purpose--willy nilly. As you have no
ruffs, it seems, this order will not touch your comfort. Good-day.'

Lucy looked after her departing visitor, seated on a pillion with the
serving-man, with a scornful smile.

It was irritating, no doubt, to be pitied by Dorothy Ratcliffe, and to have
to stand by her in such humble attire, but did she not know that George,
poor George, loved her, and her alone; did she not know that he would never
suffer himself to be entrapped into a marriage with his cousin, even though
she had bags of gold, and finally--and that was perhaps the sweetest
thought of all--did she not know whether in faded homespun, guiltless of
lace or ruffle, or in her best array, no one could look twice at Dorothy
Ratcliffe while she was by.

So the poor little vain heart was comforted, as Lucy turned to Mary, who
had been in the bakehouse kneading flour for the coarse, brown bread
consumed by the household at Ford Manor far too quickly to please Mistress
Forrester, with a merry laugh,--

'To think on't, Mary. Doll Ratcliffe has been visiting me to tell me she is
to marry George, and be the fair mistress of Hillbrow. I could split my
sides with laughing to think of it! And she came to pity me--pity me,
forsooth! bec