Lady Wilmot's emotions of annoyance and anger at Mr. Chevenix and the whole situation took the form of making her niece smart, while in reality she had no very genuine fear of such an awful crisis coming about, thinking that heaven or fate, or something or other, would never permit a person of her position to be so heavily visited. 'And _what_ shall I do, auntie?' asked the young lady, plaintively, but with surprise. 'You may have to go out into the world as a governess or companion.' 'Governess or companion! while Bella Chevenix----' 'Will reign here as heiress of Wilmothurst,' said Lady Julia, with the first approach to expression on her lineless face--a bitter and scornful smile. 'Oh, it is hard--very hard!' 'Very hard for _me_,' added Lady Julia, who like most of her class thought chiefly of 'number one.' 'She will make some good marriage,' said Emily, after a pause. 'She is decidedly very handsome, and has, my maid Florine tells me, magnificent hair.' 'Handsome,' queried the fair Emily; 'yes, but aunt, this is an age of belladonna, pearl powder, rouge, and heaven knows what more.' 'I hope the Gold Coast will have cured Jerry of his foolish fancy for that artful girl.' 'Her tastes are decidedly rural. I have been told that she often assists the vicar in visiting the poor, and actually teaches in his school at times.' 'Well, she is more in her place there, and acting the village Samaritan, than riding with the buckhounds, dancing at county and garrison balls, and giving herself the airs of the _habituée du monde_.' Lady Julia had in her arms a Maltese spaniel, a wheezy, fat, and petted cur that often reposed in a mother-of-pearl basket lined with blue satin, and she was fondling it as she had never fondled Jerry when an infant--a cur that snapped viciously at every one who approached within ten yards of it or her, but which she always apostrophised and talked to as if it had been a human being; and, sooth to say, it was about as human in feeling as this earl's daughter, so far as tenderness and a capacity for loving went--loving any one at least but herself. 'Come, my sweet one, Floss,' she now exclaimed, oblivious suddenly of her approaching woes, and while it was leaping and yapping on her knee she kissed it repeatedly, and said, in a cooing voice, 'Did it want to go for a drive on this cold cold February afternoon? Then its mamma will order the carriage and take it for one.' If Jerry had never in his tender boyhood been fondled in this manner, how often had he felt in after-life that much of the attention his mother _did_ at any time bestow upon him was due less to any maternal instinct or love than to his position and means as Squire of Wilmothurst and to family pride and vanity. 'A letter, my lady,' said a tall footman, presenting one on a salver, and withdrawing noiselessly. 'Another from this man Chevenix already. Again! really, really, what can this person want now!'