lty as he handed an envelope to my aunt and
begged her to copy it exactly.

"I can't pronounce the name of my friend Lloyd's place," he said, "but
you'll find it written there in seven consonants and one vowel."

"Lloyd!" said I--"Lloyd! Wasn't there a pretty Miss Lloyd you used to
dance with last season in London? John! John! I've found you out at
last. Now I can account for the splendour of your attire. Now I can
see why you post off to Wales in such a hurry, leaving your horses and
your hunting and your cousin, sir, for the _beaux yeux_ of Miss
Fanny--isn't that her name? Well, John, I give you joy; she is a
pretty girl, even in London, and Aunt Deborah says she's a fortune."

John looked so distressed I didn't like to pursue the subject. I
couldn't think what had come over him--he never spoke another word to
me till he jumped into his dog-cart to be off, and then he only
muttered "Goodbye, Kate" in a hoarse whisper, but he wrung my hand
very hard, and I even thought there were tears in his eyes! He is a
good fellow, John; I was sorry to think I might have said anything to
hurt his feelings.

After he went away it was drearier than ever. What could I do but
think of Frank Lovell, and wonder when I should see him again? Where
could he be? Perhaps at the inn at Muddlebury. I could see the smoke
of the town from the breakfast-room windows, and used to watch it with
a painful interest. Every time a servant came into the room I thought
something impossible was going to happen. If a carriage drove up to
the house--if a horse's tramp was heard in the approach--if the
door-bell rung, I fancied it must be Captain Lovell coming to
call--perhaps to explain everything--possibly to request an interview
with my aunt, such as Squire Haycock had undergone, "but," as I said
to myself with a beating heart, "to have a very different result." If
the dwelling solely on one idea be a species of madness, then was I
undoubtedly mad--nothing was so wild and extravagant as to appear
impossible to my heated fancy. I was always expecting and always
disappointed.

The fourth morning I got a letter from Mrs. Lumley, which did not add
much to my composure or comfort. Why is it ladies have such a knack of
making each other miserable equally by letter as by word of mouth? I
give the epistle of Mrs. Lumley verbatim, omitting only the dashes and
notes of admiration with which it was studded:--

"MY DEAREST DEAR KATE,--Here we are settled at B