"I don't think you know her, but you must have seen her in church. She is sister to my old friend James Thompson, with whom I go to play backgammon every Saturday night. Her mother was Lord Beaucourt's housekeeper, and the old lady died last year, so Miss Thompson came to live with her brother. But Thompson has a houseful of young people, and I fancy Miss Lydia might not be sorry to make a change. So it might be a mutual convenience." Fred gave his consent very graciously, expressing at the same time a great longing to see Judith's face when the possible affliction in store for her was first announced to her. Had he but known it, he might have had that treat at once; he had only to open the door, at which the excellent Judith was listening. Something in her master's manner when he came in upon the scene about the boots had given her a fright, and she was anxious to find out if she had anything worse to fear than a severe scolding. She heard all! And tottering back to the kitchen, which, contrary to the general habits of kitchens, was at the top of the house, she sank upon a chair and began to sob. "And such a servant as I've been to him," she moaned faintly, "such a servant!" Then she felt that she was an ill-used woman, and clenching her hand—a good big hand she had, too—she said aloud— "Miss Lydia Thompson! Miss, forsooth! Her mother wasn't a bit better than myself, though she wears black silk and I know my place! But wait a bit, Miss Lydia Thompson; you're not Mrs. Rayburn yet, nor shall be if I can help it." She sat meditating various ways of putting an end to the courtship, which, I may remark, was not yet begun. Miss Lydia had as yet no idea of the promotion that lay within her reach. But Judith was no witch, and she could devise no better plan than to amend her ways, give fewer tea-parties, cook the dinners decently, and dust the furniture; nay, she even determined to polish Fred's boots.