“If Lady Randolph chose, she might easily get him an introduction,” said Mrs. Russell; “but it is out of sight out of mind, Miss Trevor. When you do not want anything, there are numbers of people ready to help you; but when you do-- Lady Randolph might do it in a moment. It would not cost her anything; but she forgets; when you are out of the way everybody forgets.” “We must not say that, mother. It was she who brought us our celestial visitor.” “That is true, that is true,” Mrs. Russell cried. Lucy did not know what to think or how to reply; she had never been called a celestial visitor before, and it was impossible not to be pleased by all this kindness and admiration. But then it was embarrassing, and she saw Mary in the background laugh. She felt half disposed to laugh too, and then to cry; but that was because she was parting with Jock, who, little monster, did not shed a tear. Lucy dried her own eyes almost indignantly; but even on her side the effect of the parting was broken by the assiduous attentions with which she was surrounded. She was so confused by having to take Bertie’s arm, and thus being conducted to the door, and put into the carriage, that she could not give Jock that last hug which she had intended. Mrs. Russell stood on the steps, and kissed her hand. “You will come soon again, come as often as you can. You will do us all good, as well as the little brother,” Mrs. Russell said. And Bertie put his head into the carriage to tell her that he would come himself and bring her news of Jock. They both spoke and looked as if Lucy were indeed a celestial visitor, a being of transcendent excellence and glory. She could not but be conscious of a bewildering sense of pleasure; but she was ashamed of so much devotion. She was not the least worthy of it. Could they be laughing at her? But why should any one be so cruel as to do that? For the moment, however, all Lucy’s personal excitement in the consciousness of being able to change the circumstances of the poor lady, who had at first sight appealed so strongly to her sympathies, was subdued, and turned into the humiliation and shame of an officious person who has been offering unnecessary aid. She shrunk back into herself with a hot blush. Had she, perhaps, wanted to appear as a great benefactor in the eyes of the Russells? was it pride rather than pity? Lucy, though she had so little experience, was wise enough to know that undesired help is an insult, a thing that everybody resents. She was deeply disappointed and ashamed, not knowing how to excuse herself for her rash impulse of liberality, liberality which these high-spirited and hopeful people would most likely never have forgiven her for thinking of. She locked away her father’s memoranda again in the secret drawer. “Oh, papa! papa!” she said to herself, “how could you think it would be so easy?”