Never before had the elegant and fastidious Lady Lodore entered such an abode, or ascended such stairs. The servant had told her to enter the room at the head of the first flight, so she made her way by herself, and knocked at the door. The voice that told her to come in, thrilled through her, she knew not why, and she became disturbed at finding that her self-possession was failing her. Slight things act powerfully on the subtle mechanism of the human mind. She had dressed with scrupulous plainness, yet her silks and furs were strangely contrasted with the room she entered, and she felt ashamed of all the adjuncts of wealth and luxury that attended her. She opened the door with an effort: Ethel was seated near the fire at work--no place or circumstance could deteriorate from her appearance--in her simple, unadorned morning-dress, she looked as elegant and as distinguished as she had done when her mother had last seen her in diamonds and plumes in the presence of royalty. There was a charm about both, strikingly in contrast, and yet equal in fascination--the polish of Lady Lodore, and the simplicity of Ethel were both manifestations of inward grace and dignity; and as they now met, it would have been difficult to say which had the advantage of the other. Ethel's extreme youth, by adding to the interest with which she must be regarded, was in her favour. Yet full of sensibility and loveliness as was her face, she had never been, nor was she even now, as strikingly beautiful as her mother. Lady Lodore could not restrain the tear that started into her eye on beholding her daughter situated as she was. Ethel's feelings, on the contrary, were all gladness. She had no pride to allay her gratitude for her mother's kindness. "How very good of you to come!" she said, "how could you find out where we were?" "How long have you been here?" asked Lady Lodore, looking round the wretched little room. "Only a few weeks--I assure you it is not so bad as it seems. I should not much mind it, but that Edward feels it so deeply on my account." "I do not wonder," said her mother, "he must be cut to the soul--but thank God it is over now. You shall come to me immediately, my house is quite large enough to accommodate you--I am come to fetch you." "My own dearest mother!"--the words scarcely formed themselves on Ethel's lips; she half feared to offend the lovely woman before her by showing her a daughter's affection. "Yes, call me mother," said Lady Lodore; "I may, at last, I hope, be allowed to prove myself one. Come then, dear Ethel, you will not refuse my request--you will come with me?" "How gladly--but--will they let Edward go? I thought there was no hope of so much good fortune." "I fear indeed," replied her mother, "that Mr. Villiers must endure the annoyance of remaining here a little longer; but I hope his affairs will soon be arranged."