h towards raising
Ayala in Lady Tringle's estimation. Sir Thomas had only laughed when
Augusta had been requested to go upstairs for the scrap-book. Sir
Thomas had been profuse with his presents even when Ayala had been
most persistent in her misbehaviour. And then all that affair of the
Marchesa, and even Mr. Traffick's infatuation! If Ayala wished that
she were somewhere else would it not be well to indulge her wish!
Aunt Emmeline certainly wished it. "If you think so, perhaps some
arrangement can be made," said Aunt Emmeline, very slowly.

"What arrangement?"

"You must not suppose that I wish to turn you out?"

"But what arrangement?"

"You see, Ayala, that unfortunately we have not all of us hit it off
nicely; have we?"

"Not at all, Aunt Emmeline. Augusta is always angry with me. And
you,--you think that I have encouraged Tom."

"I am saying nothing about that, Ayala."

"But what arrangement is it, Aunt Emmeline?" The matter was one of
fearful import to Ayala. She was prudent enough to understand that
well. The arrangement must be one by which she would be banished from
all the wealth of the Tringles. Her coming among them had not been a
success. She had already made them tired of her by her petulance and
independence. Young as she was she could see that, and comprehend the
material injury she had done herself by her folly. She had been very
wrong in telling Augusta to go upstairs. She had been wrong in the
triumph of her exclusive visits to the Marchesa. She had been wrong
in walking away with Mr. Traffick on the Pincian. She could see that.
She had not been wrong in regard to Tom,--except in calling him a
lout; but whether wrong or right she had been most unfortunate. But
the thing had been done, and she must go.

At this moment the wealth of the Tringles seemed to be more to her
than it had ever been before,--and her own poverty and destitution
seemed to be more absolute. When the word "arrangement" was whispered
to her there came upon her a clear idea of all that which she was
to lose. She was to be banished from Merle Park, from Queen's Gate,
and from Glenbogie. For her there were to be no more carriages, and
horses, and pretty trinkets;--none of that abandon of the luxury
of money among which the Tringles lived. But she had done it for
herself, and she would not say a word in opposition to the fate which
was before her. "What arrangement, aunt?" she said again, in a voice
which was intended to wel