, and not setting my cup
in my lap, or holding it up in the air."

"Dear me, Julia," said Lady Hamilton, with great solicitude expressed on
her face; "dear me, your gout must be very bad to-night. It makes you
quite cross. Poor dear!"

Mrs. Betham sniffed at this, but a grim smile came into her eyes, and
Patty concluded she was not quite so grumpy as she seemed.

After the coffee was finished, and the tray taken away, Mrs. Betham
excused herself and went off to her own room.

"The way it began," said Lady Hamilton, as if to explain her interest in
Patty, "was one day when I went through the corridors and passed your
drawing-room, and the door was a little mite ajar, and I heard you
singing. I am very fond of just that high, sweet kind of voice that you
have, and I paused a few moments to listen to you. Then afterward I saw
you in the dining-room two or three times at luncheon or dinner, and I
took a fancy to know you, for I felt sure I should like you. Do you mind
coming to see me once in a while, my dear? I am very lonely."

"Mind! No, indeed!" cried Patty, impetuously throwing her arms around her
new friend. "I loved you the first time I ever saw you. But why do you
say you are lonely? You, a great lady."

"I will tell you my story in a few words," said Lady Hamilton. "For I
suppose you would hear it from others, and I would rather tell it you
myself. I am the daughter of Sir Otho Markleham. Of course, if you were a
Londoner, you would know all this, but as you're not, I'll tell you.
Well, I am Sir Otho's only daughter, and four years ago, when I was just
eighteen, I ran away from home and married Lord Cecil Hamilton. He was a
good man, but he had quarrelled with my father on a point of politics,
and my father disapproved of the match. He disowned me as his daughter,
though he said he would always continue the allowance I had had as a
girl. I was glad of this, not only because Lord Hamilton, though a man of
good fortune, was not a wealthy man, but also because it seemed to show
my father had not entirely cast me off. But he forbade us to go to his
house, and we went to Paris and lived there for a year. After one year of
happy married life Cecil died, and since then my only aim in life has
been to be reconciled to my father. But he will not have it, or at least
he won't have it unless I make the first overtures toward peace."

"And won't you?" cried Patty, in astonishment.

"Not I! I am not to blame. The two me