As the season advanced she went out a little more, under the chaperonage of her god-mother, Lady Barnstaple. But it was weary work—balls, concerts—whatever it was, weary and unenjoyable. She had not, naturally, enough of what are called “animal spirits” to throw off suffering, even temporarily, under excitement, as many, by no means heartless, women are able to do. Her indifferent, almost absent manner, came to be remarked by the few who knew her well enough to notice her; and more than one desirable “parti,” who had in former days been struck by the girl’s sweet brightness and gentle gaiety, was frightened away by the indefinable change that had come over her. “Miss Vere looks as if she were going into a decline,” was murmured on more than one occasion, when her slender figure and pale, grave face were discerned among the crowd. “Such a pity, is it not? And she promised to be so pretty last year. Do you remember her mother—oh, no, it was long before your time, of course—Constantia Percy, she was, the Merivale Percies, you know, and such a lovely creature! They do say Mr. Vere bullied her to death. I could believe it of him. Those very clever, ambitious men, my dear, are not the best husbands. Have you heard that a baronetcy is spoken of for him? No? Ah, then it may be mere gossip,” and so on. Not till May did Marion get a glimpse of Harry, and then but a hurried one. Mr. Vere graciously permitted him to come up to town on his sister’s birthday, which fell in “the pleasant month.” His visit was really the first bright spot in her life since her return to England. How well and happy he looked! And how sweet it was to be thanked by his own lips for what she had done for him—done, though she knew it not, at a priced that had cost her dear! For she was still as far as ever from guessing the real nature of the difficulty that Ralph had alluded to. Still she imagined it to be connected with Florence Vyse, and in this found the only reasonable solution of his continued silence—a silence, she now began to fear, never likely to be broken or explained. A little incident led her to do at last what she had not hitherto felt fit for,—to write to Cissy a full account of the whole from beginning to end, and to ask her advice as to the propriety of disclosing to Sir Ralph the secret of her assumed name and position while at Altes. A disclosure which, were it to be made, could be done by no one so well as by Cissy, and which, were it once clearly explained to Sir Ralph, would satisfy her; even if the result destroyed her last lingering hope that after all some mistake through her change of name had occurred, that in some way the mysterious obstacle in the way of his marrying Miss Freer, might be removed by her appearing in her true colours as Marion Vere. If indeed he could forgive the deception! It was a few chance words overheard at a dinner party, that led to her taking this step.