ate for us
to talk about Darrell Court now. Pray do not misunderstand me; I was
only expressing my belief."

She bent down to take up her drawing materials.

"I do not misunderstand you, child," he said, sadly. "You love it
because it is the home of a race you love, and not for its mere worth in
money."

Her dark eyes seemed to flash with fire; the glorious face had never
softened so before.

"You speak truly," she said; "that is exactly what I mean."

Then she went away, liking Sir Oswald better than she had ever liked him
in her life before. He looked after her half-sadly.

"A glorious girl!" he said to himself; "a true Darrell! I hope I have
not made a mistake."

Lady Darrell made no complaint to her husband of Pauline; the girl gave
her no tangible cause of complaint. She could not complain to Sir Oswald
that Pauline's eyes always rested on her with a scornful glance,
half-humorous, half-mocking. She could not complain of that strange
power Miss Darrell exercised of making her always "feel so small." She
would gladly have made friends with Miss Darrell; she had no idea of
keeping up any species of warfare; but Pauline resisted all her
advances. Lady Darrell had a strange kind of half-fear, which made her
ever anxious to conciliate.

She remarked to herself how firm and steadfast Pauline was; there was no
weakness, no cowardice in her character; she was strong, self-reliant;
and, discerning that, Lady Darrell asked herself often, "What will
Pauline's vengeance be?"

The question puzzled her far more than she would have cared to own. What
shape would her vengeance assume? What could she do to avoid it? When
would it overtake her?

Then she would laugh at herself. What was there to fear in the
wildly-uttered, dramatic threats of a helpless girl? Could she take her
husband from her? No; it was not in any human power to do that. Could
she take her wealth, title, position, from her? No; that was impossible.
Could she make her unhappy? No, again; that did not seem to be in her
power. Lady Darrell would try to laugh, but one look at the beautiful,
proud face, with its dark, proud eyes and firm lips, would bring the
coward fear back again.

She tried her best to conciliate her. She was always putting little
pleasures, little amusements, in her way, of which Pauline never availed
herself. She was always urging Sir Oswald to make her some present or to
grant her some indulgence. She never interfered with her; ev