everybody as the young lady of the place, this was hard upon Lucy. For the moment it gave her an almost intolerable prick--though she took herself to task for it instantly with hot rage and self-contempt. How mean and poor, what a wretched pitiful creature she was! Then, however, after all this feeling, came the practical side of the matter. Should she let her mother know? Lucy had no secrets from her mother, except indeed that one of her love, before her love had been openly asked for--a thing which not the most tenderly confidential of daughters could be expected to disclose. She made an heroic effort to clear from her mind all prejudice, all momentary and accidental irritation of feeling. Which was best? To let this incognito have its full value, to permit Arthur’s wife to have the entire advantage of the effort she was visibly making, and keep her secret? If it were prematurely revealed it was possible that the effort itself would tell against Nancy, at least with Lady Curtis. To let her do her best, to say nothing, to give her the chance of making them her friends, would not that be the kindest thing that Arthur’s sister could do? The conclusion is very easily stated, but it took a long time to arrive at; but it was on this that Lucy decided at last. “Will you reply for me?” she said to her mother; “no--I am not going to exceed your permission, mamma. I will abide by my promise not to write. Say from me,” said Lucy with a blush, “that I--respond in my heart to all he says; but that, at present, on all subjects it is best not to speak. Will you tell him that word for word.” “Faithfully, my darling--and thank you, my Lucy,” said the mother, kissing her, with the quick moisture rising in her eyes. Then she added with a smile, “I suppose I may give him--your love?” Lady Curtis was not hard upon the young people after all. CHAPTER XI.