worked to false lines. A creeping up among the useless
lumber of our nation that'll be the first to burn if there comes a flare.
I never see such a deserter of your own lot as you be! But you were
always like it, Berta, and I am ashamed of ye. More than that, a good
woman never marries twice.'

'You are too hard, Sol,' said the poor viscountess, almost crying. 'I've
done it all for you! Even if I have made a mistake, and given my
ambition an ignoble turn, don't tell me so now, or you may do more harm
in a minute than you will cure in a lifetime. It is absurd to let
republican passions so blind you to fact. A family which can be
honourably traced through history for five hundred years, does affect the
heart of a person not entirely hardened against romance. Whether you
like the peerage or no, they appeal to our historical sense and love of
old associations.'

'I don't care for history. Prophecy is the only thing can do poor men
any good. When you were a girl, you wouldn't drop a curtsey to 'em,
historical or otherwise, and there you were right. But, instead of
sticking to such principles, you must needs push up, so as to get girls
such as you were once to curtsey to you, not even thinking marriage with
a bad man too great a price to pay for't.'

'A bad man? What do you mean by that? Lord Mountclere is rather old,
but he's worthy. What did you mean, Sol?'

'Nothing--a mere sommat to say.'

At that moment Picotee emerged from behind a tree, and told her sister
that Lord Mountclere was looking for her.

'Well, Sol, I cannot explain all to you now,' she said. 'I will send for
you in London.' She wished him goodbye, and they separated, Picotee
accompanying Sol a little on his way.

Ethelberta was greatly perturbed by this meeting. After retracing her
steps a short distance, she still felt so distressed and unpresentable
that she resolved not to allow Lord Mountclere to see her till the clouds
had somewhat passed off; it was but a bare act of justice to him to hide
from his sight such a bridal mood as this. It was better to keep him
waiting than to make him positively unhappy. She turned aside, and went
up the valley, where the park merged in miles of wood and copse.

She opened an iron gate and entered the wood, casually interested in the
vast variety of colours that the half-fallen leaves of the season wore:
more, much more, occupied with personal thought. The path she pursued
became gradually in