All the way to London, Coventry found it impossible to forget the almost tragical expression of the girl’s face, and it haunted him through the bustle of two busy days. Ned’s affair was put in the way of being speedily accomplished, Bella’s commissions were executed, his mother’s pet delicacies provided for her, and a gift for Lucia, whom the family had given him for his future mate, as he was too lazy to choose for himself. Jean Muir’s letter he had not delivered, for Lady Sydney was in the country and her townhouse closed. Curious to see how she would receive his tidings, he went quietly in on his arrival at home. Everyone had dispersed to dress for dinner except Miss Muir, who was in the garden, the servant said. “Very well, I have a message for her”; and, turning, the “young master,” as they called him, went to seek her. In a remote corner he saw her sitting alone, buried in thought. As his step roused her, a look of surprise, followed by one of satisfaction, passed over her face, and, rising, she beckoned to him with an almost eager gesture. Much amazed, he went to her and offered the letter, saying kindly, “I regret that I could not deliver it. Lady Sydney is in the country, and I did not like to post it without your leave. Did I do right?” “Quite right, thank you very much--it is better so.” And with an air of relief, she tore the letter to atoms, and scattered them to the wind. More amazed than ever, the young man was about to leave her when she said, with a mixture of entreaty and command, “Please stay a moment. I want to speak to you.” He paused, eyeing her with visible surprise, for a sudden color dyed her cheeks, and her lips trembled. Only for a moment, then she was quite self-possessed again. Motioning him to the seat she had left, she remained standing while she said, in a low, rapid tone full of pain and of decision: “Mr. Coventry, as the head of the house I want to speak to you, rather than to your mother, of a most unhappy affair which has occurred during your absence. My month of probation ends today; your mother wishes me to remain; I, too, wish it sincerely, for I am happy here, but I ought not. Read this, and you will see why.” She put a hastily written note into his hand and watched him intently while he read it. She saw him flush with anger, bite his lips, and knit his brows, then assume his haughtiest look, as he lifted his eyes and said in his most sarcastic tone, “Very well for a beginning. The boy has eloquence. Pity that it should be wasted. May I ask if you have replied to this rhapsody?” “I have.” “And what follows? He begs you ‘to fly with him, to share his fortunes, and be the good angel of his life.’ Of course you consent?”