very wretched,--till she had altogether dismissed her
low-born lover.

"I did not think you would be so unkind to me," sobbed Lady Anna
through her tears.

"I do not mean to be unkind, but you must be told the truth. Every
minute that you spend in thinking of that man is a disgrace to you."

"Then I shall be disgraced all my life," said Lady Anna, bursting out
of the room.

On that day the Serjeant dined at his club, but came home about nine
o'clock. It had all been planned so that the information might be
given in the most solemn manner possible. The two girls were sitting
up in the drawing-room with the guest who, since the conversation in
the morning, had only seen Mrs. Bluestone during dinner. First there
was the knock at the door, and then, after a quarter of an hour,
which was spent up-stairs in perfect silence, there came a message.
Would Lady Anna have the kindness to go to the Serjeant in the
dining-room. In silence she left the room, and in silence descended
the broad staircase. The Serjeant and Mrs. Bluestone were sitting
on one side of the fireplace, the Serjeant in his own peculiar
arm-chair, and the lady close to the fender, while a seat opposite to
them had been placed for Lady Anna. The room was gloomy with dark red
curtains and dark flock paper. On the table there burned two candles,
and no more. The Serjeant got up and motioned Lady Anna to a chair.
As soon as she had seated herself, he began his speech. "My dear
young lady, you must be no doubt aware that you are at present
causing a great deal of trouble to your best friends."

"I don't want to cause anybody trouble," said Lady Anna, thinking
that the Serjeant in speaking of her best friends alluded to himself
and his wife. "I only want to go away."

"I am coming to that directly, my dear. I cannot suppose that you
do not understand the extent of the sorrow that you have inflicted
on your parent by,--by the declaration which you made to Lord Lovel
in regard to Mr. Daniel Thwaite." There is nothing, perhaps, in the
way of exhortation and scolding which the ordinary daughter,--or
son,--dislikes so much as to be told of her, or his, "parent." "My
dear fellow, your father will be annoyed," is taken in good part.
"What will mamma say?" is seldom received amiss. But when young
people have their "parents" thrown at them, they feel themselves
to be aggrieved, and become at once antagonistic. Lady Anna became
strongly antagonistic. If her mother, who