The summer sun peeped through the Venetian blinds greenly shading the breakfast-table. Only three sides were occupied. For more than two years past good Miss Wells had been lying under the shade of Hiltonbury Church, taking with her Honora Charlecote's last semblance of the dependence and deference of her young ladyhood. The kind governess had been fondly mourned, but she had not left her child to loneliness, for the brother and sister sat on either side, each with a particular pet--Lucilla's, a large pointer, who kept his nose on her knee; Owen's, a white fan-tailed pigeon, seldom long absent from his shoulder, where it sat quivering and bending backwards its graceful head. Lucilla, now nearly fourteen, looked younger from the unusual smallness of her stature, and the exceeding delicacy of her features and complexion, and she would never have been imagined to be two years the senior of the handsome-faced, large-limbed young Saxon who had so far outstripped her in height; and yet there was something in those deep blue eyes, that on a second glance proclaimed a keen intelligence as much above her age as her appearance was below it. 'What's the matter?' said she, rather suddenly. 'Yes, sweetest Honey,' added the boy, 'you look bothered. Is that rascal not paying his rent?' 'No!' she said, 'it is a different matter entirely. What do you think of an invitation to Castle Blanch?' 'For us all?' asked Owen. 'Yes, all, to meet your Uncle Christopher, the last week in August.' 'Why can't he come here?' asked Lucilla. 'I believe we must go,' said Honora. 'You ought to know both your uncles, and they should be consulted before Owen goes to school.' 'I wonder if they will examine me,' said Owen. 'How they will stare to find Sweet Honey's teaching as good as all their preparatory schools.' 'Conceited boy.' 'I'm not conceited--only in my teacher. Mr. Henderson said I should take as good a place as Robert Fulmort did at Winchester, after four years in that humbugging place at Elverslope.' 'We can't go!' cried Lucilla. 'It's the last week of Robin's holidays!' 'Well done, Lucy!' and both Honor and Owen laughed heartily. 'It is nothing to me,' said she, tossing her head, 'only I thought Cousin Honor thought it good for him.' 'You may stay at home to do him good,' laughed Owen; 'I'm sure I don't want him. You are very welcome, such a bore as he is.' 'Now, Owen.' 'Honey dear, I do take my solemn affidavit that I have tried my utmost to be friends with him,' said Owen; 'but he is such a fellow--never has the least notion beyond Winchester routine--Latin and Greek, cricket and football.' 'You'll soon be a schoolboy yourself,' said Lucilla. 'Then I shan't make such an ass of myself,' returned Owen. 'Robin is a very good boy, I believe,' said Honor. 'That's the worst of him!' cried Lucilla, running away and clapping the door after her as she went.