Tadcaster seemed disappointed by that, and by and by Cicely took herself to task. She asked herself what were Tadcaster's chances in the lottery of wives. The heavy army of scheming mothers, and the light cavalry of artful daughters, rose before her cousinly and disinterested eyes, and she asked herself what chance poor little Tadcaster would have of catching a true love, with a hundred female artists manoeuvring, wheeling, ambuscading, and charging upon his wealth and titles. She returned to the subject of her own accord, and told him she saw but one objection to such a match: the lady had a son by a man of rare merit and misfortune. Could he, at his age, undertake to be a father to that son? “Othahwise,” said Lady Cicely, “mark my words, you will quall over that poor child; and you will have two to quall with, because I shall be on her side.” Tadcaster declared to her that child should be quite the opposite of a bone of contention. “I have thought of that,” said he, “and I mean to be so kind to that boy, I shall MAKE her love me for that.” On these terms Lady Cicely gave her consent. Then he asked her should he write, or ask her in person. Lady Cicely reflected. “If you write, I think she will say no.” “But if I go?” “Then, it will depend on how you do it. Rosa Staines is a true mourner. Whatever you may think, I don't believe the idea of a second union has ever entered her head. But then she is very unselfish: and she likes you better than any one else, I dare say. I don't think your title or your money will weigh with her now. But, if you show her your happiness depends on it, she may, perhaps, cwy and sob at the very idea of it, and then, after all, say, 'Well, why not--if I can make the poor soul happy?'” So, on this advice, Tadcaster went down to Gravesend, and Lady Cicely felt a certain self-satisfaction; for, her well-meant interference having lost Rosa one husband, she was pleased to think she had done something to give her another. Lord Tadcaster came to Rosa Staines; he found her seated with her head upon her white hand, thinking sadly of the past. At sight of him in deep mourning, she started, and said, “Oh!” Then she said tenderly, “We are of one color now,” and gave him her hand. He sat down beside her, not knowing how to begin. “I am not Tadcaster now. I am Earl of Miltshire.” “Ah, yes; I forgot,” said she indifferently. “This is my first visit to any one in that character.” “Thank you.” “It is an awfully important visit to me. I could not feel myself independent, and able to secure your comfort and little Christie's, without coming to the lady, the only lady I ever saw, that--oh, Mrs. Staines--Rosa--who could see you, as I have done--mingle his tears with yours, as I have done, and not love you, and long to offer you his love?” “Love! to me, a broken-hearted woman, with nothing to live for but his memory and his child.” She looked at him with a sort of scared amazement.