"The day I left Nice--a most dear letter. She is having a heavenly time in America. The Estcoits are such delightful companions; the girl is seven months younger than she is--and the boy is seven years older. Curious difference, isn't it?" "Very. But I didn't know there was a boy. I thought it was only the school friend and the mother." "Oh no! There's the brother--Pierce. Nance's letters are full of him." Lady Frances gave a little half-sarcastic laugh. "Then Nance is presumably still learning--though she has left school?" Something in the utterance of the words made Clodagh flush. "Don't!" she said involuntarily--"don't! Nance is--is different from me." Then, as her hostess remained silent, she turned and looked at her. "Don't be offended!" she added. "It is only that I can't have anything cynical said of Nance. I know you don't understand. It seems that because I sent her to America, I don't really care----" She halted again. "But I don't make you understand!--I don't seem to make any one understand." Her voice dropped slightly; and Lady Frances, as though fearing some emotional outburst, broke in hastily. "My dear child!--my dear Clodagh!" Then she paused, for the door opened and her maid Rees reappeared. "Excuse me, my lady! But Lord Deerehurst and Mr. Serracauld are in the drawing-room. Franks thought your ladyship would wish to know." "Quite right. Thank you, Rees! Clodagh, are you ready?" Clodagh's face was slightly flushed from her momentary outbreak, as she left the bedroom. Descending the stairs, Lady Frances moved to her side and passed her hand through her arm: and at the touch, a sharp repulsion to this friendship--this fair weather, effusive, superficial friendship--surged through her. And yet where was she to find a firmer sentiment? Where, in all the world, was there a being who had any real need of her? Her aunt? Her cousin? She knew instinctively that their world and her own were inevitably sundered. Nance? Had not even Nance--the little Nance of childish days--already begun to gather interests of her own--to form her own friendships? No; there was no niche that especially claimed, that especially needed her! At this point in her hasty and confused speculations, the door of the drawing-room was thrown open: and, after an interval of two years, she saw Lord Deerehurst and Serracauld.