“And now, dearest Amy, I have something very important to say to you; it’s about your nephew--and my niece.” As a rule, Letty was ‘my husband’s niece,’ but now Mrs. Fen saw the bright day approaching when she could claim her not only as niece, but adopted daughter! “You mean Lancelot and Letty?” said Mrs. Denton in a constrained voice. “Yes; a stitch in time saves nine, and I want you, dearest Amy, to grant me a favour, and not invite Lancelot here for some months. When idle young people are together, they have little to do but flirt, imagine themselves in love, and get into mischief. They are so tiresome, and often bring no end of misery on themselves and others.” She paused for a moment, but Mrs. Denton merely nodded her head in feeble assent. “You see,” pursued the visitor, “Letty is quite remarkable in the way of good looks--her face is, and must be, her fortune. We hope she may make a suitable match--in fact, to you, Amy, I know I may say in confidence, that one is already on the _tapis_.” (Recently the frost had driven Blagdon to London; he had met Mrs. Fenchurch in Piccadilly and spoken to her for a moment--but in that moment he enquired for her niece.) “As for Lancelot, he is on the threshold of what will, no doubt, be a brilliant career. By all accounts he is so clever, and well thought of in his profession. To hurl himself into matrimony and misery--for marriage without money is misery--to hamper himself with a wife--and family--would----” and her tone became solemnly prophetic--“be his _ruin_!” “Yes, I suppose so,” meekly assented his aunt. “You may be sure of it, Amy,” urged her friend forcibly. “You and I must be wise for these young people, and before matters take any form, let us keep them apart, for Lancelot’s sake. I know I can rely on _your_ assistance. They are so ridiculously young--barely forty years between them.” “That’s true, they are young,” admitted the invalid. “Too young, but surely they could wait? I know that the boy is the soul of honour, and nothing has been _said_.” “I should hope not!” interrupted the ruler of Thornby, and her voice was sharp. “But I believe he is deeply in love, that he almost worships Letty. Such an attachment keeps a young man so straight, and gives him a wonderful incentive to strive for success. Lancelot has done splendidly so far; he is well thought of in his regiment, he is studying hard, getting up Hindustani and Pushtoo----”