She glanced merrily round her, in all innocence; but Mrs. Abercarne, always rather too ready to feel insulted, chose to consider this speech as a barbed one. “No; unfortunately we are not rich enough to buy unnecessary things,” she said acidly; “and we are not refined enough to look upon silver tables as necessaries.” “You needn’t talk at me as if I were mamma, Mrs. Abercarne,” cried Lilith, brightly. “I know we buy unnecessary things, and leave the necessary ones unbought. I know we spend money on toys which are supposed to be ancient silver, when in reality they are modern pewter, and have to darn our gloves. I know we do lots of things which are foolish, and get us laughed at, but, after all, you _can_ laugh at us, and you ought to be grateful for that!” The girl’s sense of fun was infectious, and Chris laughed aloud. Lilith went on: “The latest--no, not the very latest craze, but the latest but one, is for me to blossom out into a great dramatic writer, and to buy a house for us all in Kensington Palace Gardens. Mamma says I am brimming over with talent (and perhaps I am, but it hadn’t troubled me much till it was pointed out to me), and there is a dearth of dramatists, and I am to ‘supply a long-felt want,’ as the advertisements say. And all on the strength of my little play the other day, which, by-the-bye, I have sent up to a London manager to read. Of course, I’m hoping he’ll take it, but it seems almost too good to be possible, doesn’t it?” The girl spoke playfully, but with just enough wistfulness in her tone for the other ladies to see that she was full of the most forlorn of all forlorn hopes. Mrs. Abercarne began to perceive that even Graham-Shutes may be human, moved with like passions to our own. And when Corbett appeared again, asking if she could speak to Mrs. Abercarne for a minute, that lady left the room with the pleasant consciousness that the visit of the lively girl was doing Chris good. No sooner were they alone, than Lilith drew near to her companion mysteriously. “Chris, tell me, is it true that you don’t like Mr. Bradfield, and don’t mean to marry him if he asks you?” “Indeed it is,” answered Chris hotly, with more energy than she had shown since the beginning of her illness. “I wouldn’t marry him if he were the richest and the most charming person in the world!” “Then I think you’re very silly.” Chris laughed a little. “It’s lucky Mrs. Graham-Shute can’t hear you say so.” Lilith burst into a laugh of delightful merriment. “Yes, indeed it is,” she admitted heartily. “It’s the greatest dread of her life that you should become Mrs. John Bradfield, of Wyngham House. And nothing will induce her to believe that you are not trying to bring it about. For my own part,” she went on, prosaically, as Chris shook her head, “I should think much better of you if you were.” Chris looked at her in amazement.