r clergyman, not quite understanding in his own emotion what she
was saying, made an effort to gulp it down and bring himself to the
level of ordinary life, the little stir of the bringing-in of tea
suddenly converted everything into commonplace. He sat in a confusion
that made all dull to him while this little stir went on. Then he rose
up and said, faltering: "If your ladyship will permit me, I will go out
into the air a little. I have got a sort of singing in my ears. I
am--not very strong; I shall come back presently if you will allow me,
and try to make my acknowledgments--in a less confused way."

Lucy followed him out of the room; he was not confused with her. "My
dear young lady," he said, "my head is going round and round. Perhaps
you will explain it all to me." He looked at her with a helpless,
appealing air. Lucy had the appearance of a girl of his own. He was not
afraid to ask her anything. But the great lady, his benefactress, who
spoke so regally and responded so little to his emotion, alarmed him.
Lucy, too, on her side, felt as if she had been a girl of his own. She
put her arm within his, and led him to the library, where all was quiet,
and where she felt by instinct--though she was not bookish--that the
very backs of the books would console him and make him feel himself at
home.

"It is very easy to explain," she said. "It is all through my brother
Jock and your son, who is at school with him. And it is I who am Lady
Randolph," she said, smiling, supporting him with her arm through his.
The shock would have been almost too much for poor Mr. Churchill if she
had not been so like a child of his own.

The moment this pair had left the room the Contessa raised herself
eagerly from the chair. She looked round to Bice in the background with
an imperative question. "What does this all mean?" she said, in a voice
as different from the languor of her former address as night from day.
"Who is it that gives away fortunes, that makes a poor man rich? Did you
know all that? Is it that chit of a girl, that piece of
simplicity--that--Giove! You have been her friend; you know her secrets.
What does it mean?"

"She has no secrets," said Bice, coming slowly forward. "She is not like
us, she is like the day."

"Fool!" the Contessa said, stamping her foot--"don't you see there must
be something in it. I am thinking of you, though you are so ungrateful.
One knows she is rich, all the money is hers; but I thought it ha