"Yes, I do," retorted the old lady, curtly. "And I envy you still. I love the boy, Ethel. There is not a woman of us in the room, from the youngest to the oldest, who does not love him. You cannot expect one whom the gods have so favored to behave like an ordinary mortal." "Why not? It is just what Algernon has said to me." "I thought as much. I was watching you two. Of all things, beware of this: don't let Algernon interfere with him. It is a strange thing to say, but his father is the worst man in all the world to attempt to put the bridle on Leycester. It is we women who alone have the power to guide him." "That is where my fear lies," said the countess. "It is the thought of what may happen in that quarter which fills me with daily dread." "There is only one safeguard--marry him," remarked the old countess, but with a comical smile. The countess sighed. "Again, that is what Algernon says. You both say it as calmly as if you told me to give him a cup of tea." The old countess was silent for a moment, then she said-- "Where is Lenore Beauchamp?" Lady Wyndward was almost guilty of a start. "You read my thoughts," she said. The old lady nodded. "She is the only woman who can really touch him. Ask her here; let them be together. She will be glad to come." "I am not sure, Lenore is proud; she might guess why we wanted her." The old lady drew up her head as haughtily as if she was Leycester's mother. "And then? Is there any girl among them who would not jump at the chance? I don't mean because he is the heir to Wyndward; he is enough in himself without that." "It is well you are not his mother; you would have made him what he is not now--vain." The old lady sighed. "I know it. But you are wrong about Lenore. If she ever cared for anyone, it is Leycester. She is proud, but love levels pride, and she may put forth her power. If she should, not even Leycester can withstand her. Ask her down, and leave the rest to her--and Providence." The countess sat for a moment in silence, then she put her hand upon the thin, wrinkled hand, unadorned by a single gem. "I have always you to come to. I think you understand him better than his own mother." "No," said the old lady, "but I love him nearly as well." "I will write at once," said the countess. And she rose and crossed to the ante-room. There was a writing-table amongst the furniture; the servants saw her go to it, and noiselessly left the room. She took up the pen and thought a moment, then wrote: "MY DEAR LENORE,--Will you come down and spend a week with us? We have a few friends with us, but we are not complete without you. Do not say 'No,' but come. I do not name any day, so that you may be free to fix your own." "Yours affectionately, "ETHEL WYNDWARD." "P.S.--Leycester is with us." As she wrote the signature she heard a step behind her, which she knew was Leycester's.