“I wonder just how long you’ll find Llandiarmid endurable!” she said to her. “You’re to have Phil’s room, you know, and sort of take her place.” “I don’t care,” was the irritating reply. “Lady Caerleon is just sweet. I do love to have her sit by me and talk nicely about poor Pappa. It don’t remind me the least of what he was, but it’s real soothing to hear.” There was a touch of the old Félicia in this speech, and Maimie saw in a flash why Lady Caerleon’s society had been preferred to her own of late. Félicia felt more at her ease with a stranger, who would naturally credit her with possessing all the feelings suitable to the occasion, than with one who knew as well as Maimie had done the lack of sympathy between her father and herself. There was now no need to remain longer in London, and after a funeral service at a neighbouring church, which was attended by the American Ambassador, and to which the Archduke Ferdinand Joachim sent a representative, Usk started on his mournful journey. His farewell was clouded by the dismay which seized upon Félicia at the sight of the funeral arrangements. They were so poor, so shabby, she lamented; it would be said all over America that she had economised on her father’s funeral. It was in vain that Lord Caerleon assured her everything had been done without regard to expense; she was plunged in woe for a whole day, recounting to Lady Caerleon at intervals the extraordinary sums which had been spent on costly “caskets” and other accessories at the funerals of different acquaintances, not heeding that her auditor thought the expenditure a wicked waste, and the publication of the cost ostentation of the worst kind. The next day the two girls travelled to Llandiarmid with Lord and Lady Caerleon. It was a long journey, and the autumn dusk was already gathering when they arrived, but just before the lamps were lighted, Maimie, who was helping the maid to unpack for Félicia, happened to glance out of the window, and laughed gently. Félicia, who was lying exhausted on the couch, recovered sufficiently to come and look out as well, and saw Lord and Lady Caerleon setting out together for a ramble in the twilight. He had already routed out and put on an old Norfolk jacket and tweed cap, and Lady Caerleon’s long skirt was gathered up to a serviceable length. Her hand was tucked into her husband’s arm, and they were stealing out like two children bent on a frolic, talking happily. “Can you see yourself and Usk going out together that way?” asked Maimie, in a low voice. “I guess not,” was Félicia’s emphatic answer. “But why not? It’s just awfully charming. Why, they’re not even stout--Lord Caerleon is too active, and she worries too much over other folks--they’re just nice, solid, comfortable, middle-aged people. Oh, you’ll get like them, Fay. You’re going to be put in training for that now, and don’t you forget it.”