Mrs. Horton was seriously perplexed and noticeably agitated, while Lucy Osborn fidgeted about in her chair, as she remembered the part she had played in Ethel’s correspondence. She secretly wondered if Doctor Redfield had preserved that letter written over Mrs. Horton’s signature. It made her nervous to contemplate the possibly humiliating results of an investigation. Her almost reckless relations with Lord Avondale placed her in a position, however, that compelled her to go on doing his bidding, until the farce of his marriage to the American heiress was consummated. She was tired, alike, of the spiritless behavior of Ethel and the silly ambition of Mrs. Horton for an English alliance. True, it afforded Lucy Osborn a way of escape from the monotony of frontier life, and, at the same time, placed her on English soil with a firmer footing, she fancied, than ever before, and this thought was milk on which she fed her famishing ambition. That Ethel, in time, would become insanely jealous, or possibly would have ample reason to be so, if appearances counted for anything, she did not doubt. Her self-assurance, however, told her that she could easily call Lenox Avondale to her when his honeymoon with Ethel was over, and her beauty would compel him to be her champion. Another thought slipped in unbidden, and it made her shudder a little; the thought was this,—what would become of her when her beauty of face and figure was gone? Mrs. Horton assured Lucy Osborn that she would not have a moment’s peace until Dr. Jack Redfield had taken his departure. “My dear Mrs. Horton, I shall be constantly on the watch. Should any letters come, they might seriously complicate our arrangements, unless you intercept them and bring them to me.” Mrs. Horton blushed at the remembrance of her unworthy actions in regard to her daughter’s letters, and said, “Why, Doctor Redfield has evidently heard before this of the betrothal of my daughter, and he certainly is too honorable to interfere.” When Mrs. Osborn and Lord Avondale were driving away from the Grove, he turned and asked her, rather brusquely, “Why did Miss Ethel refuse to see me?” “Indeed, Lenox, I did not see her myself.” “I will teach her, after we are married, that it is contrary to the canons of good form to go moping about and wearing that bored expression.” As he finished speaking, he gave the horse a stinging cut with his whip. “Her actions are not very commendable,—in fact, rather disagreeable,” replied Mrs. Osborn. “Stop!” said Lord Avondale, bluntly; “please have the kindness to say nothing of a disparaging nature concerning the future Lady Avondale. I will not permit it. Ethel is a noble woman, with a virtuous and wholesome air of purity about her.” “Oh, how delicately considerate you are,” replied Mrs. Osborn, piqued and stung by his brusque words and manner. “Do you doubt my estimate of her?” asked Avondale.