This letter of Hetty's was the last drop. What _did_ it matter about me and my feelings, and my righteous pride, and all the holy instincts of my youth? There was my mother to be saved, my home to be relieved, my poor little new sister to be comforted and made happy. I rushed out of the room and wrote a frantic letter to Hetty. I could not send her the money, but I could send her hope. I did. I sent it flying to her on the wings of her Majesty's post. Then I wrote to Lady Ursula, and apologised for not keeping my appointment at the Chamber of Myths that day. I said that Cousin Geoffrey's letter was of a very startling character, and that it was impossible for me to disclose its contents to any one at present. I spoke to Lady Ursula affectionately and in a sisterly spirit, and I sent my kind regards to her intended husband, Captain Valentine. I paused and even blushed as I considered what message I could forward to my cousin Tom. After careful reflection I felt that I could say nothing about him. He was the thorn in my lot at present, and I felt that I owed him an enormous grudge, and that I should have liked very much to hate him. But when I remembered his extremely honest expression, his bluntness and downrightness, I could not quite manage to get up a feeling of hatred to a man who was really in himself quite innocent. Finally I wrote to Mr Gray, and told him that I would present myself at his villa in Putney to-morrow. CHAPTER NINETEEN. MY MOTHER'S WEDDING-DRESS. Never did a girl prepare for a gay visit with a sadder heart. I had not an idea what I was going to. Mr Gray was rich, and I felt certain that his villa was what my father would term "pretentious." By this would be meant that he had large rooms instead of small, good furniture instead of shabby, good meals instead of bad, and in the place of loneliness and gloom, brightness and company. This I was sure of, for Mr Gray's eyes sparkled as if he lived well and cheerily, and the pleasant sunshine of hospitality shone all over his expressive features. I was going to a gay house then--a "company" house. I ran down-stairs early the next morning and told my mother of my invitation, and of my acceptance of it. She seemed a little surprised, then, after a pause, she said she was pleased. "Go, and have a good time, Rosamund," she said; "it is quite right that girls should enjoy themselves; but oh! my love," an anxious shadow coming across her face, "what have you got to wear?" "Plenty of things, mother," I retorted, "lashin's and lavin's, as they say in Ireland." "But you have no evening dress, Rose. At Mr Gray's the girls are sure to dress for the evening." "Oh, I can manage," I said. "But you have _not_ got an evening dress, my darling; all the girls will have evening dresses." "One girl must do without," I retorted in a stout voice which concealed many qualms of the heart.