It was not that she was heartless or unfeeling, or that she infringed the laws of good breeding and good taste in any distinctly and visible manner. No one could quite say what it was, and yet everyone felt that the fact was sufficiently indicated that she was recovering from the shock of her sudden and terrible bereavement with unexpected, if not unbecoming, rapidity. "You mark my words," somebody would say to somebody else, when Mrs. Kingston's carriage went flashing by, and she turned to bow to them, perhaps with her serene, sweet, grave smile; "you mark my words--that woman will be married again by this time next year. I don't know what makes me think so, but I am sure of it. There is a look in her face as if she were going to make herself happy." The person addressed, being a man, would probably reply that the odd thing would be if she _did_ not make herself happy (and generally he suggested that by remaining a widow she would be most likely to secure that object), with youth and beauty, leisure and liberty, and ten thousand a year to do what she liked with; and that he sincerely hoped she would be. Being a woman, she was more likely than not to look after Rachel and her carriage with solemn severity, and wonder how it was that that poor, dear, foolish man never could see that the girl cared nothing at all about him, and had only married him for his money. Mrs. Hardy was becoming aware of this state of public opinion with respect to her niece's conduct--which had been so extremely proper hitherto--and was herself conscious of the subtle change that had taken place, and was uneasily wondering what it indicated, when one day Rachel came to see her. It was eleven o'clock on a warm summer morning, just before Christmas; and the young widow walked over through the gardens and the back gate, wearing a light, black cambric dress and a shady straw hat, looking--Mrs. Hardy thought, glancing up at her from her writing-table in a cool corner of the now transformed drawing-room--unusually well and strikingly young and girlish. "Well, my dear, how are you? And where's Alfy? Have you not brought him with you?" Rachel put her arm over her aunt's shoulder, and kissed her affectionately. "I haven't brought him to-day, because I wanted to have a little quiet talk," she said. "Are you very busy, auntie?" Mrs. Hardy _was_ busy--she always was, from breakfast until lunch time; but she was impressed by a certain gentle gravity in Rachel's voice and manner, and understood that there was something of importance to be attended to. So she gathered up her papers, told her visitor to take off her hat and sit down, and inquired anxiously what was the matter. "There is nothing the matter," said Rachel, with a little hesitation. "But, auntie dear, I am going to--do something, and I would not do it without telling you first."