All this poor Minola kept saying or thinking to herself that morning as she listlessly dressed. It is not too much to say that the very air seemed changed for her. She had only one resolve to sustain her, but that was at least as strong as her love, or as death--the resolve that, come what would, she must keep her secret. Victor Heron believed himself her friend, and desired to be nothing more. No human soul but her own must know that her feeling to him was not the same. She would have known the need of that resolve even if she had never been entrusted with poor dear little Lucy's secret. But the more calmly she thought over that little story the more she thought it likely that Lucy's dream might come to be fulfilled. The world--that is to say, the breakfast room and the Money family--had to be faced. The family were as pleasant as ever, except Lucy, who looked pale and troubled, and at whom her father looked once or twice keenly, but without making any remark. "I have had a letter from Lady Limpenny already this morning," Mr. Money observed. All professed an interest in the contents of the letter, even Theresa. Mr. Money began to read: "Thank you a thousand times, my dear Money----" "We are very friendly, you see, Miss Grey," he said, breaking off. "But it's not any peculiar friendship for me. She always calls men by their names after the first interview." "She generally addressed papa as 'my dear,' without any proper name appended," said Lucy, who did not much like Lady Limpenny. "She always likes the men of a family and always hates the women." "Lucy, my dear," her mother pleaded, "how can you say so? Laura Limpenny and I are true friends." "She is giving us good help with our schools and our church," Theresa Money said; "and Reginald" (Theresa's engaged lover) "thinks very highly of her." "She always praises men, and they all think highly of her," Lucy persisted; "and it is something to be Lady Anything." "I assure you, Miss Grey," Mrs. Money said, "that Lady Limpenny is the most sincere and unpretending creature. She is not an aristocrat--she has nothing to do with aristocracy; if she had, there could be little sympathy, as you may well believe, between her and me, for you know my convictions. The aristocracies of this country are its ruin! When England falls--and the hour of her fall is near--it will not be due to beings like Laura Limpenny." "There I agree with you, dear," Mr. Money gravely said. "Shall I go on?" He went on: