eld her countenance, and though she only called on me in state she
allowed Viola to write plenty of notes to me.

But I must go on to that day when Harold and Eustace were to have a
hunting day with the Foling hounds, and dine afterwards with some of
the members of the hunt at the Fox Hotel at Foling, a favourite meet.
They were to sleep at Biston, and I saw nothing of them the next day
till Eustace came home alone, only just in time for a late dinner, and
growled out rather crossly that Harold had chosen to walk home, and not
to be waited for. Eustace himself was out of sorts and tired, eating
little and hardly vouchsafing a word, except to grumble at us and the
food, and though we heard Harold come in about nine o'clock, he did not
come in, but went up to his room.

Eustace was himself again the next morning, but Harold was gone out.
However, as, since he had been agent, he had often been out and busy
long before breakfast, this would not have been remarkable, but that
Eustace was ill at ease, and at last said, "The fact is, Lucy, he has
been 'screwed' again, and has not got over it."

I was so innocent that only Dora's passion with her brother revealed to
me his meaning, and then I was inexpressibly horrified and angry, for I
did not think Harold could have broken his own word or the faith on
which I had taken up my abode with them, and the disappointment in him,
embittered, I fear, by the sense of personal injury, was almost
unbearable.

Eustace muttered something in excuse which I could not understand, and
I thought was only laxity on his part. I told him that, if such things
were to happen, his house was no home for me. And he began, "Come now,
Lucy, I say, that's hard, when 'twas Harold, and not me, and all those
fellows--"

"What fellows?"

"Oh, Malvoisin and Nessy Horsman, you know."

I knew they were the evil geniuses of Dermot's life. Lord Malvoisin
had been his first tempter as boys at their tutor's, and again in the
Guards; and Ernest, or Nessy, Horsman was the mauvais sujet of the
family, who never was heard of without some disgraceful story. And
Dermot had led my boys among these. All that had brightened life so
much to me had suddenly vanished.

It was Ash Wednesday, and I am afraid I went through my Lenten services
in the spirit of the elder son, nursing my virtuous indignation, and
dwelling chiefly on what would become of me if Arghouse were to be made
uninhabitable, as I foresaw.

I