Lady Lancaster, filled with chagrin and despair, sat gazing on the floor in silence. The thought of losing this trusty, capable woman, who had belonged to the staff of Lancaster Park so long, was most annoying to her. It had come upon her with all the suddenness of a calamity. She viewed it as nothing less. She was an old woman, and she disliked exceedingly to have new faces around her. Under Mrs. West's efficient _régime_ the affairs of the house had gone on with the precision and regularity of clock-work. It would take a new woman years to attain to her proficiency. She had grown to regard the good housekeeper almost as her own property--a piece of her personal goods and chattels. She could not help being angry at the thought of losing her. "It is too bad," she blurted out, indignantly. "Why do folks go and die like that, and leave their wretched brats on other people's hands." A faint color crept into Mrs. West's comely face at the scornful words. "My lady, it's the will of God," she said, in her quiet, deprecating way. "I don't believe God has anything to do with it," cried the old lady, violently. "If He did, He would prevent poor folks from marrying, in the first place." And then as she saw how patiently the woman endured these taunts, she had the grace to be ashamed of herself. "Well, there, there; I dare say you don't care to hear your folks spoken of in that way," she said, in a milder tone. "But then Richard West was no kin to you, anyway--only your husband's brother!" Mrs. West could not forbear a pertinent little retort. "And Captain Lancaster is only your husband's nephew, my lady, yet you take a great interest in him," she said. Lady Lancaster gave her a keen little glance. "Humph! West has some spirit in her," she said to herself; then, aloud, she replied: "I can assure you the only interest I take in him is because he is my Lord Lancaster; and as he holds the title my late husband held, I should like for him to have money enough to support it properly. But if he does not marry to please me, you shall see how little I care for the young popinjay." Mrs. West made no reply, and her mistress continued, after a moment's thought: "Must you really take the child, do you think, West?" "I couldn't think of refusing poor Dick's dying request," was the answer. "Shall you make your home in America?" continued the lady. "Oh, no, no; I should come back to dear old England. I couldn't consent to pass my last days in a strange country." Lady Lancaster was silent a moment. Her eyes were very thoughtful; her thin lips worked nervously. Mrs. West waited patiently, her plump hands folded together over the letter that had brought her such strange, unwelcome news. "Where are you going to live when the child comes?" Lady Lancaster snapped, almost rudely. "I don't know yet, my lady. I have made no plans. I only received my letter a little while ago." "You don't want _my_ advice, I presume?"--more snappishly than ever.