Lois had another lover, though scarcely an acknowledged one: Frank Amberley, Lady Quaintree’s nephew. The affection which had crept into his heart day by day was strong as a current flowing down from a mountain. From the day that Lois had entered the house of Lady Quaintree--literally from that day, for he happened to be there the very afternoon that the young child of fourteen had come hither--he had watched her grow up, like some fair and beautiful plant. For four years he had deeply loved this girl as he could never, never love again, he knew. From the time he had discovered the state of his own feelings, he had steadily sought to win her regard: that he had gained, but not the love he prayed for. She liked and trusted him as a friend--nothing more--not one atom more, he was well aware. His love shone upon her as the sun shines upon glass or water--reflected back, it is true, but with perfect coldness. Lois vaguely surmised that he loved her, but he had never told her so. Lady Quaintree ardently desired now to see Lois the wife of her beloved son. But how about the one whom the dead old man had decreed to be the husband of this beautiful girl? The difficulties in the way loomed large. He certainly had not appeared very anxious the night before to take any advantage of his position, or to seek to improve his acquaintance with the girl thus placed under his charge. Great was the amazement of the Honorable Gerald when he heard of the good fortune that had befallen Lois. “By Jove! what a crotchety old dolt!” was his exclamation. “Why couldn’t he leave the girl untrammeled?” But he said it to himself, for Lois was standing by. Lady Quaintree asked her what she was going to do. “To remain exactly as I am, dearest madam.” “Absurd! Impossible, my love!” “If you wish me to be happy,” Lois pleaded, “you will let me go on as I have done for these four peaceful years. I wish for no change.” Her ladyship glanced keenly from her son to Lois and back again, but without perceiving the slightest sign that the desire expressed by Lois might be dictated by some deeper feeling than affection for herself. “Well, my dear, be it as you will. Let us make no change for the present, if it so please you. All I bargain for is that we do a little delightful shopping for your benefit, darling. You must shine with the bravest. Frank asked if we could go to his office to see the original will; but my lord has undertaken to see that everything is right, and to save us all trouble.” Again she glanced at Lois’ face as she pronounced the name of her nephew; but not a ray of conscious pleasure, not a blush, betrayed a spark of interest. “My lord is very good and kind,” she murmured. “And we must run down to Gloucestershire to have a peep at your Hall.” It was thus comfortably settled that Lois should remain with the friends who had been so kind and considerate to her. “Does she care for anybody? or is she still heart-free?” Lady Quaintree asked herself.