And the more her thoughts dwelt on this subject, and the more apparent it became to Lucy’s mind that she must not betray her discovery, the more curious she grew about the object of it all. Never a parish day came now that she did not pay a visit to Mrs. Arthur. This was not always successful, for Mrs. Arthur was often out, as Lucy thought, to avoid her; but on these occasions she would talk to the sister, whose name nobody knew. Lucy called her Miss Arthur, with a keen glance of scrutiny, and saw by Matilda’s little start and her sudden look, as if about to contradict her, that this was not her name; but she thought better of it after a moment’s consideration, and allowed herself to be called Miss Arthur for the rest of the interview. And Lucy had little difficulty in eliciting from Matilda all the particulars of her family history which did not touch Nancy. How their parents were dead, how their only brother had gone to New Zealand; and Matilda did not conceal that she hoped to follow Charley, and, indeed, to that intention was busy with all the chemises at which Lucy beheld her working. “It will be a long voyage,” Matilda said, “and one requires a large supply.” “But will your sister go too?” “My sister? I have two sisters, Miss Curtis. One is very well married in the place where we used to live. I have heard them say that if Charley did very well, and there seemed a good opening, they wouldn’t mind; for what is New Zealand nowadays?--not much farther than France used to be, father always liked to say.” “But I meant your sister here, Mrs. Arthur. Will it not be very dreary for her if you go away?” “Oh, my sister, Mrs. Arthur! She is very different from the rest of us; things are not with her as with the rest of us. I cannot take it upon me to say what she will do.” While this conversation was going on, Lady Curtis, who had walked down the length of the avenue to look for Lucy, met Mrs. Arthur coming over the stile, and stopped to talk to her. “I see you have got some lovely leaves again; are you going to draw them? You must have quite a genius for art-work.” “Oh, no, no genius for anything,” said Nancy, with the swift flushes of sudden change going over her face which Lady Curtis always called forth. She was more at her ease when there was nobody looking on. She had the feeling that she must be supposed to be “currying favour” with Lady Curtis when there was a third person present. “No genius; it has been always my ruin that I am so stupid,” said Nancy, with a serious air, which looked very piquant and amusing in conjunction with such words. “Your ruin, my dear? I hope you are far from ruin anyhow; and I don’t think it could possibly come on that score,” said Lady Curtis, with a smile.