lso had no mother,--to speak of. Mr.
Hamel, the father, entertained friends on Sunday, with the express
object of playing cards. That a Papist should do so was to be
borne;--but Mr. Hamel was not a Papist, and, therefore, would
certainly be ----. All this and much more had been learned at Rome,
and therefore Lucy, though she herself never mentioned Mr. Hamel's
name in Queen's Gate, heard evil things said of the man who was so
dear to her.

It was the custom of her life to be driven out every day with her
aunt and Gertrude. Not to be taken two or three times round the
park would be to Lady Tringle to rob her of the best appreciated of
all those gifts of fortune which had come to her by reason of the
banker's wealth. It was a stern law;--and as stern a law that Lucy
should accompany her. Gertrude, as being an absolute daughter of
the house, and as having an almost acknowledged lover of her own,
was allowed some choice. But for Lucy there was no alternative. Why
should she not go and be driven? Two days before they left town she
was being driven, while her aunt was sitting almost in a slumber
beside her, when suddenly a young man, leaning over the railings,
took off his hat so close to Lucy that she could almost have put out
her hand to him. He was standing there all alone, and seemed simply
to be watching the carriages as they passed. She felt that she
blushed as she bowed to him, and saw also that the colour had risen
to his face. Then she turned gently round to her aunt, whom she hoped
to find still sleeping; but Aunt Emmeline could slumber with one eye
open. "Who was that young man, my dear?" said Aunt Emmeline.

"It was Mr. Hamel."

"Mr. Isadore Hamel!" said Aunt Emmeline, horrified. "Is that the
young man at Rome who has got the horrible father?"

"I do not know his father," said Lucy; "but he does live at Rome."

"Of course, it's the Mr. Hamel I mean. He scraped some acquaintance
with Ayala, but I would not have it for a moment. He is not at all
the sort of person any young girl ought to know. His father is a
horrible man. I hope he is no friend of yours, Lucy!"

"He is a friend of mine." Lucy said this in a tone of voice which was
very seldom heard from her, but which, when heard, was evidence that
beneath the softness of her general manner there lay a will of her
own.

"Then, my dear, I hope that such friendship may be discontinued as
long as you remain with us."

"He was a friend of papa's," said Lucy.