oughts did indeed
drive through it--pleased her; especially because it seemed to please
him.

Then Mrs. Penfold and Susy were brought down, and Mrs. Penfold sat amid
explanations and embraces, more feather-headed and inconsequent even than
usual, but happy, because Lydia caressed her, and this handsome though
pale young man on the hearthrug kissed her hand and even, at command, her
still pink cheek; and it seemed there was to be a marriage--only not the
marriage there should have been--a substitution, clearly, of Threlfall
for Duddon? Lydia would live at Threlfall; would be immensely rich; and
there would be no more bloodhounds in the park.

But when Faversham was gone, and realities began to sink into the little
lady's mind, as Lydia sitting at her feet, and holding her hand, tried to
infuse them, dejection followed. No coronet!--and now, no fortune! She
did not understand these high-stepping morals, and she went sadly to bed;
though never had Lydia been so sweet to her, so ready to brush her hair
by the fire as long as ever she chose, so full of daughterly promises.

Susy kissed her sister when they were alone, tenderly but absently.

"You're a rare case, Lydia--unique, I think. The Greeks would call you
something--I forget! I should really like to understand the psychology of
it. It might be useful."

Lydia bantered her a little--rather sorely. But the emotions of her
family would always be so much "copy" to Susy; and the fact did not in
the least prevent her being a warm-hearted, and, in her own way,
admirable little person.

Finally, Lydia turned the tables on her, by throwing an arm round her
neck, and inquiring whether Mr. Weston had not paid her a very long
call the day before. Susy quietly admitted it, and added: "But I told
him not to call again. I'm afraid--I'm bored with him. There are no
mysteries in his character--no lights and shades at all. He is too
virtuous--monotonously so. It would be of no technical advantage to me
whatever, to fall in love with him."

That evening came a note from Lady Tatham:

"MY DEAR LYDIA:

"We expect you to-morrow at 11:30. Mr. Faversham has asked that we--and
you--Cyril Boden, Doctor Undershaw, old Dixon, and Felicia (her poor
mother is _very_ ill, and we hear news to-day of the sudden death of the
old grandfather)--should meet him at that hour in Harry's library. And
afterward, you will stay to lunch? My dear, you have in this house two
warm friends who love you a