s is a Wykehamist.'

Robert took his place on the back seat, but still as if he would have
preferred walking home. Neither his sister nor his friend dared to ask
whether he had seen Lucilla. Could she have refused him? or was her
frivolity preying on his spirits?

Phoebe tried to interest him by the account of the family migration, and
of Miss Fennimore's promise that Maria and Bertha should have two
half-hours of real play in the garden on each day when the lessons had
been properly done; and how she had been so kind as to let Maria leave
off trying to read a French book that had proved too hard for her, not
perceiving why this instance of good-nature was not cheering to her
brother.

Miss Charlecote's house was a delightful marvel to Phoebe from the moment
when she rattled into the paved court, entered upon the fragrant odour of
the cedar hall, and saw the Queen of Sheba's golden locks beaming with
the evening light. She entered the drawing-room, pleasant-looking
already, under the judicious arrangement of the housekeeper, who had set
out the Holt flowers and arranged the books, so that it seemed full of
welcome.

Phoebe ran from window to mantelpiece, enchanted with the quaint mixture
of old and new, admiring carving and stained glass, and declaring that
Owen had not prepared her for anything equal to this, until Miss
Charlecote, going to arrange matters with her housekeeper, left the
brother and sister together.

'Well, Robin!' said Phoebe, coming up to him anxiously.

He only crossed his arms on the mantelpiece, rested his head on them, and
sighed.

'Have you seen her?'

'Not to speak to her.'

'Have you called?'

'No.'

'Then where did you see her?'

'She was riding in the Park. I was on foot.'

'She could not have seen you!' exclaimed Phoebe.

'She did,' replied Robert; 'I was going to tell you. She gave me one of
her sweetest, brightest smiles, such as only she can give. You know
them, Phoebe. No assumed welcome, but a sudden flash and sparkle of real
gladness.'

'But why--what do you mean?' asked Phoebe; 'why have you not been to her?
I thought from your manner that she had been neglecting you, but it seems
to me all the other way.'

'I cannot, Phoebe; I cannot put my poor pretensions forward in the set
she is with. I know they would influence her, and that her decision
would not be calm and mature.'

'Her decision of what you are to be?'

'That is fixed,' said Robert, sighing.