It was marvellous with what patience and courtesy Lendrick replied to these and such-like, politely assuring the writers how he regretted his inability to meet their wishes, and modestly confessing that he had neither the money nor the time to make his house other than it was. All these, however, were as nothing to his trials when the day arrived when the house and grounds, in the language of the advertisement, were “on view,” and the world of the curious and idle were free to invade the place, stroll at will through rooms and gardens, comment and criticise not merely the objects before them, but the taste and the fortunes, the habits and the lives of those who had made this their home, and these things part of their own natures. In a half-jesting humor, but really to save Lendrick from a mortification which, to a nature timid and sensitive as his, would have been torture, Sir Brook and Tom agreed to divide the labors of ciceroneship between them; the former devoting his attentions to the house and furniture, while Tom assumed the charge of grounds and gardens. To complete the arrangement, Lendrick and Lucy were banished to a small summer-house, and strictly enjoined never to venture abroad so long as the stranger horde overran the territory. “I declare, my dear, I almost think the remedy worse than the disease,” said Lendrick to his daughter, as he paced with short feverish steps the narrow limits of his prison-house. “This isolation here has something secret, something that suggests shame about it. I think I could almost rather face all the remarks our visitors might make than sit down here to fancy and brood over them.” “I suspect not, dearest papa; I believe the plan will spare us much that might pain us.” “After all, child, these people have a right to be critical, and they are not bound to know by what associations you and I are tied to that old garden-seat or that bookstand, and we ought to be able to avoid showing them this.” “Perhaps we ought, papa; but could we do so? that's-the question.” “Surely the tradesman affects no such squeamishness about what he offers for sale.” “True, papa; because none of his wares have caught any clew to his identity. They have never been his in the sense which makes possession pleasure.” “I wish they would not laugh without there; their coarse laughter sounds to me so like vulgar ridicule. I hardly thought all this would have made me so irritable; even the children's voices jar on my nerves.” He turned away his head, but her eyes followed him, and two heavy tears stole slowly along her cheek, and her lip quivered as she looked. “There, they are going away,” said he, listening; “I am better now.” “That 's right, dearest papa; I knew it was a mere passing pang,” said she, drawing her arm within his, and walking along at his side. “How kind Sir Brook is!”