with a young girl’s affections, committing a sin against his neighbour. That sin might not, viewed abstractedly, be so heinous as that which Rhoda’s brother was, with equal audacity, committing; but in reality the one man’s guilt was little inferior to the other; both yielded to such temptation as was within their reach, and the consequence in either case was the punishment that had been so deservedly incurred. Lady Millicent, whose motives for passing the season in London could scarcely be called motherly ones, troubled herself little about her elder daughter’s pallid cheeks and languid movements. “Rhoda was always _pasty_,” was her answer to Lady Guernsey, when that kind friend endeavoured to draw her attention to the small amount of interest taken by the _débutante_ in the amusements that were offered to her; “Rhoda never had more colour than a boiled fowl. And in London I don’t see how she is to get rosier; unless, indeed,” correcting herself a little spitefully, “she were to employ the same tricks that other girls do; and _that_, I need not tell you, is not in Rhoda’s line.” “I cannot help fancying,” Lady Guernsey said after a pause, during which she was wondering a little nervously how her hint would be taken,--“I cannot help fancying that Rhoda may have taken a fancy, may have seen someone who--” Lady Millicent drew herself up indignantly. “I should have imagined,” she said, “that you had seen enough of Rhoda, enough too of my mode of bringing up, to render such a surmise--ahem--impossible. My daughter has never left my roof but once; and that, my dear Lady Guernsey, was when you kindly invited her to Gawthorpe. I should be distressed to think that while with you, and under Lord Guernsey’s protection, she should have met with anyone who, I mean--pray allow me to proceed--anyone who had clandestinely gained her affections, and thus put a bar--for I could not tolerate anything underhand--to my receiving him as a son-in-law.” Lady Guernsey could not restrain a smile at this indignant outburst against one who was in point of fact a myth. Preparing to rise from the sofa, on which the two chaperones had taken refuge from the crowd and heat of a “delightful” ball, she said courteously: “You must forgive me for my guess, and believe that nothing but our deep interest in dear Rhoda could have called it forth. As to her having seen anyone in the shape of a lover at Gawthorpe, that, I can assure you, was out of the question. Anything more dull than we were last Christmas, you would hardly believe. The death of poor Guernsey’s sister made gaiety out of the question; but the children, all things considered, seemed to enjoy themselves; and I am only grieved to see your girl looking so dull and altered.” She put out her hand to her country neighbour as she spoke, and Lady Millicent, whose thoughts had already wandered away to law-courts, will-cases, and appeals, returned her goodnight with apparent cordiality.