"Yes, there is the expense." Margaret spoke a little dreamily; she could not help thinking that if Lady Lyons spent her time running after doctors Grace would hardly have what she bargained for. "Of course, Mrs. Drayton, expense is nothing to you who throw away thousands," said Lady Lyons in an injured tone. "Do I throw away thousands?" asked Margaret, who did not know how busy rumour had been as regarded her fortune and what she had done with it. "I think not, but I was wondering, perhaps, if the charge of a young girl like my sister was not too much for you." "Oh, no!" exclaimed Lady Lyons, afraid of seeing all her visions fade away. "I only meant that I might at first see some one, and be put in a right way." "Grace will want to go everywhere, to all the plays, and concerts, and every attainable thing," said Margaret, impressively. "You must not accept the position with your eyes shut." "I assure you, dear Mrs. Drayton, I do understand it all, a young girl, and never having had any pleasure. I only mentioned about doctors, because it is, you know, one of the advantages of London--you can get, as a learned friend of mine once said, the best advice for your soul and body." This conversation did not impress Margaret very favourably, but time was running on, and she had given up her house. With all Lady Lyons' nonsense and absurdity she was a kind-hearted woman, and no one would ever have any real influence with Grace. That young lady took it all very calmly. She did not object to Lady Lyons, or evince any surprise at her being ready now to do what she had proclaimed herself reluctant to do before; but she was so completely absorbed by the approaching change in her existence that Margaret was hurt to find how little she seemed to feel the separation from herself. The sisters parted. Margaret gave her last look, and saw Grace in the celebrated brown velvet, which, in a warm June day, was singularly inappropriate, looking fragile but radiant, ordering about the porters, and quite giving herself the airs of a young person of consequence. With a sigh, Margaret leaned back; this one close tie did not bring her much satisfaction. As the train swept on through the rich country, however, the new expectation, the movement, and change of scene, wrought their own work. The soft colour came into her face. For the first time she found herself looking forward instead of looking back. Everything was pleasant to her that day. She was alone, Jean having sturdily refused to share her carriage, and she had nothing to disturb her. Never had she seen the foliage richer, she thought, and she looked at the myriads of cowslips and ox-eyed daisies with a sudden longing to be near them. She had a book with her, but she never opened it. She had had a great pleasure, in a most friendly letter from her publisher--with a substantial proof of his admiration for her book of poems, and asking for the names of those she wished to send them to.