entleman as he was, disdaining to allude to the past
passages in the life of her whom he loved, abstaining even from
expressing anything that might be taken as a permission on his part.
There had been in Alice's words, as she told him of their proposed
plan, a something that had betrayed a tremor in her thoughts. She
had studiously striven so to frame her phrases that her tale might
be told as any other simple statement,--as though there had been no
trembling in her mind as she wrote. But she had failed, and she knew
that she had failed. She had failed; and he had read all her effort
and all her failure. She was quite conscious of this; she felt it
thoroughly; and she knew that he was noble and a gentleman to the
last drop of his blood. And yet--yet--yet there was almost a feeling
of disappointment in that he had not written such a letter as Lady
Macleod had anticipated.

During the next week Lady Macleod still came almost daily to Queen
Anne Street, but nothing further was said between her and Miss
Vavasor as to the Swiss tour; nor were any questions asked about Mr
Grey's opinion on the subject. The old lady of course discovered
that there was no quarrel, or, as she believed, any probability of a
quarrel; and with that she was obliged to be contented. Nor did she
again on this occasion attempt to take Alice to Lady Midlothian's.
Indeed, their usual subjects of conversation were almost abandoned,
and Lady Macleod's visits, though they were as constant as
heretofore, were not so long. She did not dare to talk about Mr Grey,
and because she did not so dare, was determined to regard herself as
in a degree ill-used. So she was silent, reserved, and fretful. At
length came the last day of her London season, and her last visit
to her niece. "I would come because it's my last day," said Lady
Macleod; "but really I'm so hurried, and have so many things to do,
that I hardly know how to manage it."

"It's very kind," said Alice, giving her aunt an affectionate squeeze
of the hand.

"I'm keeping the cab, so I can just stay twenty-five minutes. I've
marked the time accurately, but I know the man will swear it's over
the half-hour."

"You'll have no more trouble about cabs, aunt, when you are back in
Cheltenham."

"The flies are worse, my dear. I really think they're worse. I pay
the bill every month, but they've always one down that I didn't have.
It's the regular practice, for I've had them from all the men in the
place."