ear, with a motion of her pretty head towards Julie in the distance.

"Yes, but, my dear lady, Blanche won't come home! She and Aileen put it
off, and put it off. Now she says they mean to spend May in
Switzerland--may perhaps be away the whole summer! I had counted on
them for Easter. I am dependent on Blanche for hostess. It is really too
bad of her. Everything has broken down, and William and I (he named his
youngest son) are going to the Uredales' for a fortnight."

Lord Uredale, his eldest son, a sportsman and farmer, troubled by none
of his father's originalities, reigned over the second family "place,"
in Herefordshire, beside the Wye.

"Has Aileen any love affairs yet?" said the Duchess, abruptly, raising
her face to his.

Lord Lackington looked surprised.

"Not that I know of. However, I dare say they wouldn't tell me. I'm a
sieve, I know. Have you heard of any? Tell me." He stooped to her with
roguish eagerness. "I like to steal a march on Blanche."

So he knew nothing--while half their world was talking! It was very
characteristic, however. Except for his own hobbies, artistic, medical,
or military, Lord Lackington had walked through life as a Johnny
Head-in-Air, from his youth till now. His children had not trusted him
with their secrets, and he had never discovered them for himself.

"Is there any likeness between Julie and Aileen?" whispered the Duchess.

Lord Lackington started. Both turned their eyes towards Julie, as she
stood some ten yards away from them, in front of a refined and
mysterious profile of the cinque-cento--some lady, perhaps, of the
d'Este or Sforza families, attributed to Ambrogio da Predis. In her
soft, black dress, delicately folded and draped to hide her excessive
thinness, her small toque fitting closely over her wealth of hair, her
only ornaments a long and slender chain set with uncut jewels which Lord
Lackington had brought her the day before, and a bunch of violets which
the Duchess had just slipped into her belt, she was as rare and delicate
as the picture. But she turned her face towards them, and Lord
Lackington made a sudden exclamation.

"No! Good Heavens, no! Aileen was a dancing-sprite when I saw her last,
and this poor girl!--Duchess, why does she look like that? So sad, so
bloodless!"

He turned upon her impetuously, his face frowning and disturbed.

The Duchess sighed.

"You and I have just got to do all we can for her," she said, relieved
to see that J