is a sort to show. She is somewhat too ready to nurse her
weaknesses, and make pets of them. 'Tis bad enough for a woman to pet
her own virtues; but when she pets her vices, 'tis a hard thing to
better her. But, Lettice, there is a strong soul among you--a rare
soul, in good sooth; and there is one other, of whose weakness, and what
are like to be its consequences, I am far more in fear than of Faith's."

"Nay, who mean you?" asked Lady Louvaine in a perplexed voice.

"I mean the two lads--Hans and Aubrey."

"Hans is a good lad, truly."

"Hans has more goodness in him than you have seen the end of, by many a
mile. But Aubrey!"

"You reckon not Aubrey an ill one, I hope?"

"By which you mean, one that purposes ill? Oh no, by no means. He is a
far commoner character--one that hath no purpose, and so being, doth
more real ill than he that sets forth to do it of malicious intent."

"Are you assured you wrong not the lad, Joyce, in so saying?"

"If I do, you shall full shortly know it. I trust it may be so. But he
seems to me to have a deal more of Walter in him than Ned, and to be
right the opposite of our Aubrey in all main conditions."

"Ah," sighed the widow, in a very tender tone, "there can be no two of
him!" Then after a little pause, "And what sayest thou to Lettice--my
little Lettice?"

The concealed listener pricked up both her ears.

Aunt Joyce gave a little laugh. "Not so very unlike an other Lettice
that once I knew," said she. "Something less like to fall in the same
trap, methinks, and rather more like to fall in an other."

"Now, tell me what other?"

"I mean, dear heart, less conceit of her favour [beauty], and more of
her wisdom. A little over-curious and ready to meddle in matters that
concern her not. A good temper, methinks, and more patience than either
of her aunts on the father's side: as to humility--well, we have none of
us too much of that."

"Joyce, wouldst thou like to have us leave Lettice a while with thee?
She could wait on thee and read to thee, and be like a daughter to thee.
I will, if thou wouldst wish it."

"Nay, that would I not, Lettice, for the child's own sake. It were far
better for her to go with you. There is an offer thou couldst make me,
of that fashion, that my self-denial were not equal to refuse. So see
thou make it not."

"What, now? Not Hans, trow?"

"Edith."

"O Joyce!"

"Ay, dear heart, I know. Nay, fear not. I'll not take the las