In ten days they returned to the villa, Mrs. Haggard wrapped up as a young convalescent mother; the little bastard clothed in purple and fine linen as became his expectations as Reginald Haggard's heir. Georgie was pale, great black rings surrounded her eyes; she leant heavily on the arm of the invaluable Capt, as she stepped out of the carriage which had conveyed her from the nearest wharf. But Lucy's cheery laugh, though it failed to bring a smile to the face of her cousin, soon dominated the inhabitants of the Villa Lambert. Hephzibah, full of that added dignity which every woman assumes as the guardian of an infant, sat enthroned before a blazing fire, for in Switzerland in August the evenings are chilly. It was her custom never to address Mr. Capt, save on official matters, when a third person was present. On the present occasion she went further than this, for she declined even to answer him. Capt had bustled about, had brought in the luggage, had handed their letters to his mistresses, had received the thanks of Miss Lucy Warrender for his tasteful floral decoration of the little _salon_, and had then suddenly subsided into an attitude of respectful admiration in front of Haggard's supposed heir. To no man or male person, save perhaps to their own fathers or their medical attendants, are very young infants objects of interest; we may therefore safely presume that Mr. Capt was either really wrapped up in the severe charms of the student of the "Dairyman's Daughter," or that he had some occult and ulterior reason for remaining to study the little group at the fireside. "Ah, madame," exclaimed the major-domo, as he washed his hands in the air, "you will not think it a liberty when I respectfully felicitate you." But no answering smile appeared on Mrs. Haggard's face. "Certainly not," burst in the younger girl; "you are the first of our friends to do so, Capt," she said, with an almost perceptible emphasis on the word; "but we are both of us knocked up with the bustle, so get us some tea at once." The humbly sympathizing friend became once more the respectful servant, and hurried away to carry out his young mistress's behest. "Rouse yourself, Georgie," exclaimed the younger girl impatiently, "you really look very little like the mother of a possible heir to an earldom," she maliciously added. But Georgie made no reply to her cousin's taunt, she merely extended her colourless hands towards the blazing fire of logs. A pile of letters lay upon the table; one by one Lucy's active fingers tore them open, one by one she read them to her silent cousin, enlivening them with a running fire of comment. As she read each one aloud, she planted a fresh dagger in her cousin's heart, but she went steadily on with an occupation which seemed congenial.