die long ago?"

"Oh, Lucy, Lucy," cried Lady Randolph, "is it possible you don't see?
Who would take all that trouble about her? Who would burden themselves
with another woman's girl that was no concern of theirs? Who
would--can't you see? can't you see?"

There came over Lucy's face a hot and feverish flush. She grew red to
her hair, agitation and shame took possession of her; something seemed
to throb and swell as if it would burst in her forehead. She could not
speak. She could not look at her informant for shame of the revelation
that had been made. All the bewildered sensations which for the moment
had been stilled in her breast sprang up again with a feverish whirl and
tumult. She tottered back to the chair on which she had been sitting and
dropped down upon it, holding by it as if that were the only thing in
the world secure and steadfast. It was only now that Lady Randolph
seemed to awake to the risks and dangers of this bold step she had
taken. She had roused the placid soul at last. To what strange agony, to
what revenge might she have roused it? She had looked for tears and
misery, and fleeting rage and mad jealousy. But Lucy's look of utter
giddiness and overthrow alarmed her more than she could say.

"Lucy! Oh, my love, you must recollect, as you say, that it was all
long before he knew you--that there was no injury to you!"

Lucy made a movement with her hand to bar further discussion, but she
could not say anything. She pointed Lady Randolph to her chair, and made
that mute prayer for silence, for no more. But in such a moment of
excitement there is nothing that is more difficult to grant than this.

"Oh, Lucy," the Dowager cried, "forgive me! Perhaps I ought not to have
said anything. Oh, my dear, if you will but think what a painful
position it was for me. To see you so unsuspicious, ready to do
anything, and even Tom taking advantage of you. It is not more than a
week since I found it all out, and how could I keep silence? Think what
a painful position it was for me."

Lucy made no reply. There seemed nothing but darkness round her. She put
out her hand imploring that no more might be said; and though there was
a great deal more said, she scarcely made out what it was. Her brain
refused to take in any more. She suffered herself to be kissed and
blessed, and said good-night to, almost mechanically. And when the elder
lady at last went away, Lucy sat where Lady Randolph had left her, she
did not kn