“Oh, yes, yes! and I shall have the last word,” he cried. This little contention went on till the very moment of their parting, and Lydia put down her veil and cried gently when it was over, and the darkness had closed over her and her train, and all that chapter of her life was over. Was it over? for ever and ever done with, not one last moment still left between her and the blank of the elder world? It was dreadful, she knew, to feel as she did, to think of her home with despair, and all those lingering days which would pass without an incident, without a break, in dread monotony and quiet, nothing happening but a visit from Joan, nothing even to be afraid of but a fit of temper on her father’s part. She was frightened by the prospect. It took away her breath. “Mother, dear mother!” she said to herself, with a gasp of self-disgust; that poor mother would be happy to-day thinking of her child’s return; she would go all over the house to see that everything was in order for Liddy. There would be flowers gathered, and fresh curtains hung, and cakes made, and butter churned, and cream put upon the table for Liddy. And Liddy, she cried to herself, with an ache in her heart, Liddy would not care! Oh, the hypocrite she would have to be; the pretences she would have to make for love’s sake! She must look happy whether she was happy or not; she must make believe even to be thankful to get home again. At this Liddy cried still more behind her veil. Harry observed her with curious eyes. He was very much interested in his little sister, and he thought he understood women--not like Lionel, who pretended that they were inscrutable; but then Harry was a married man. “You don’t seem to be very cheerful about going home,” he said, at last. “Oh, yes, very happy,” said Liddy, and cried; “It is only--such a change--Wandering about has been so different--and one never knows--” Here she broke off, and made a vehement effort to be cheerful. “You will find it very different, too.” “Yes, I shall find it very different; but I am always sorry for a girl--we can get away, but you can’t. You have never said a word to me, Liddy, but I am not so blind as not to see how things are. Are the objections--on their side?” “I don’t know that there are objections. Yes, I suppose they are on their side. But how can I ever leave mother?” the girl cried, waking up to the other side of the question. She had never thought of it before, but now stared at her recovered brother, very pale, with large, wide-open eyes.