To her great surprise, when the door opened it was neither Lady Randolph nor the lady who directed her reading, but Mrs. Russell, with the heavy crape veil hanging over her bonnet, her eyes still very red, and her countenance very pale. Lucy rose hastily from her chair, repeating her “Come in,” with the profoundest astonishment, but eagerness. Could it be Jock who was ill? could it be-- Mrs. Russell smiled a somewhat ghastly smile, and looked with an anxious face at the surprised girl. She took the chair Lucy gave her, threw back her veil, and the little mantle from her shoulders, which was crape, too, and looked suffocating. Then she prepared for the interview by taking out her handkerchief. Tears were inevitable, however it might turn out. “You will be surprised to see me,” Mrs. Russell said. Lucy assented, breathless. “Is there, anything the matter with Jock?” she said. “It is natural you should think of your own first,” said the visitor, with, a little forced smile. “Oh, very natural. We always think of our own first. No, Miss Trevor, there is nothing the matter with Jock. What should be the matter with him? He is very well cared for. My poor Mary gives herself up to the care of him. She lies awake with him and his stories. Mary is a-- She is the best daughter that ever was--” the mother said, with fervor. Now, Mary was generally in the background among the Russells, and Lucy was perplexed more and more. “It is by Mary’s advice I have come,” Mrs. Russell said, putting her handkerchief to her eyes. “It has been very difficult for me, very difficult to make up my mind to come, Miss Trevor. Mary says she is sure you meant--kindly--yesterday. I don’t know how to refer to yesterday. Everything that passed is written here,” she said, putting her hand upon her breast, “as if it were in fire--as if it were in fire! Oh, Miss Trevor! you don’t know what it is when a woman has kept up a good position all her life, and always been able to hold her head high--you don’t know what it is when she has to give in, and allow herself to be spoken to as one of the poor!” Here she began to cry, and Lucy cried, too. “I did not mean it,” she said, fervently; “indeed, indeed, I did not mean it. If I said anything wrong, forgive me. It was because I did not know how to speak.” “Well, dear,” said Mrs. Russell, drying her eyes, “perhaps it was so. You are very young, and you have not had much experience; and, as Bertie says, you have so much money, that it is no wonder if you think a great deal of it. But you shouldn’t, Miss Trevor, you shouldn’t. Money is of great use; but it is not everything.”