ove--never--not even your sister. See how lightly
she cuts the link that bound her to me. How happy she is among
strangers! Yes, there was one who loved me truly, and fate parted us.
Does fate part all true lovers, I wonder?'

'You parted Lesbia and Mr. Hammond,' said Mary, impetuously. 'I am sure
they loved each other truly.'

'The old and the worldly-wise are Fate, Mary,' answered the dowager, not
angry at this daring reproach. 'I know your sister; and I know she is
not the kind of woman to be happy in an ignoble life--to bear poverty
and deprivation. If it had been you, now, whom Mr. Hammond had chosen, I
might have taken the subject into my consideration.'

Mary flamed crimson.

'Mr. Hammond never gave me a thought,' she said, 'unless it was to think
me contemptible. He is worlds too good for such a Tomboy. Maulevrier
told him about the fox-hunt, and they both laughed at me--at least I
have no doubt Mr. Hammond laughed, though I was too much ashamed to look
at him.'

'Poor Mary, you are beginning to find out that a young lady ought to be
ladylike,' said Lady Maulevrier; 'and now, my dear, you may go. I was
only joking with you. Mr. Hammond would be no match for any
granddaughter of mine. He is nobody, and has neither friends nor
interest. If he had gone into the church Maulevrier could have helped
him; but I daresay his ideas are too broad for the church; and he will
have to starve at the bar, where nobody can help him. I hope you will
bear this in mind, Mary, if Maulevrier should ever bring him here
again.'

'He is never likely to come back again. He suffered too much; he was
treated too badly in this house.'

'Lady Mary, be good enough to remember to whom you are speaking,' said
her ladyship, with a frown. 'And now please go, and tell some one to
send Steadman to me.'

Mary retired without a word, gave Lady Maulevrier's message to a footman
in the corridor, slipped off to her room, put on her sealskin hat and
jacket, took her staff and went out for a long ramble. The hills and
valleys were still white. It had been a long, cold winter, and spring
was still far off--February had only just begun.

Lady Maulevrier's couch had been wheeled into the morning-room--that
luxurious room which was furnished with all things needful to her quiet
life, her books, her favourite colours, her favourite flowers, every
detail studiously arranged for her pleasure and comfort. She was wheeled
into this room every day at no