now myself. Mrs. Ormonde took me to her house the day
before yesterday, and there was a lady there that I had to sing to. I
think she wanted to see what sort of a voice I had. She played a sound
on the piano, and asked me to sing the same, if I could. She seemed
satisfied, I thought, though she didn't say anything. Then Mrs. Ormonde
brought me back in her carriage, but she didn't say anything about the
singing. She's very strange in some things, you know.'

Lydia asked presently:

'Then was it Mrs. Ormonde gave you this money?'

And she took the post-office order from her pocket.

'What! you didn't use it?'

'No; I had enough of my own. Please give it back.'

'Oh, Lyddy, how proud you are! You never would take any help from
anybody, and yet you went on so about grandad when he made bother. Oh,
how is poor grandad?'

'The same as usual, dear.'

'And you go to work every day just the same? My poor Lyddy!'

The contention was over, and the tenderness came back.

'Speak something for me to Gilbert, Lyddy! Say I--what can I say? I do
feel for him; I can never forget his goodness as long as I live. Tell
him to forget all about me, How wrong I was ever to say that I loved
him!'

Then again, in a whisper:

'What about Mr. Ackroyd, dearest?'

'The same. They're not married yet. I dare say they will be soon.'

They spent long hours together by the ebb and flow of the tide. Lydia
almost forgot her troubles now and then. As for Thyrza, she seemed to
drink ecstasy from the live air.

'It's a good friend to me,' she said several times, looking out upon
the grey old deep. 'It's made me well again, Lyddy. I shall always love
the sound of it, and the salt taste on my lips!'

CHAPTER XXX

MOVEMENTS

'We are going first of all to the Pilkingtons', in Warwickshire,' said
Annabel, talking with Mrs. Ormonde at the latter's hotel in the last
week of July. 'Mr. Lanyard--the poet, you know--will be there; I am
curious to see him. Father remembers him a 'scrubby starveling'--to use
his phrase--a reviewer of novels for some literary paper. He has just
married Lady Emily Quell--you heard of it? How paltry it is for people
to laugh and sneer whenever a poor man marries a rich woman. I know
nothing of him except from his poetry, but that convinces me that he is
above sordid motives.'

'Then you do still retain some of your idealism, Bell?'

'All that I ever had, I hope. Why? You have feared for me?'

'Pitch! Pitch