“I’ll send Letty up to-morrow afternoon with that new book on gardening, and you might take the opportunity of having a nice little talk with her. Now good-bye, dearest friend,” and she stooped over the couch, kissed the lady with tender affection, and so departed. _That_ was done! For hours the same night Mrs. Denton lay awake miserable and restless, wondering what she could say to Letty, and how she was to say it; for it is a delicate task to tell a girl that she must put away all thoughts of your own nephew; and oh, how the poor cat’s-paw hated and dreaded the ordeal. And yet it must be faced--it would be, as Dorothy the wise had pointed out, a fatal mistake for Lancelot to marry before he got his company; and even then a girl without a penny would hamper his future. She must put sentiment from her, and think of Lancelot’s career. Letty duly arrived with the book on gardens, and remained to make tea. After a little desultory talk about the bulbs, her terrified hostess broke the ice. “I had a few lines from Lancelot this morning--he is back at Aldershot.” At his name the girl coloured up, and looked expectant. “I don’t think we shall see him here for a long time.” “No.” “From Gibraltar his regiment goes on to Egypt, and India.” “So he told me,” rejoined Letty with disconcerting promptness. “How I envy them; I would give anything to go to India, you know, I was born there!” “Yes; it’s a wonderfully interesting country. My brother-in-law was in the Punjaub for years. I hope Lance will get some staff appointment; he is working hard, and in some ways foreign service has its advantages--at home, there are so many distractions--and temptations.” “Temptations!” echoed Letty with a blank face. “Yes, my dear, in the shape of pretty faces, and the danger of falling in love. But Lancelot is poor; he has only himself to rely on--he cannot afford to think of love--much less marriage. You see he is but twenty-three, and a subaltern; so it is best for him, as I say, to go to India--and”--suddenly dropping her voice--“_forget_.” To this long speech there was no reply; the slender figure sitting with her back to the window never moved. Stirred by some rash impulse the kind woman added: “I believe he was growing fond of _you_, Letty.” The girl caught her breath. “But it would never, never do, and the less he sees and thinks of you the better. Poor fellow!” and she heaved a long sigh. And what of poor Letty? She struggled desperately to restrain her tears, to swallow an enormous lump in her throat, and to steady and clench her trembling hands; fortunately the light was growing dim and she wore a shady hat. At last she said in a clear, rather sharp key: “Of course, Mrs. Denton, you know best;” and now came a great big lie: “Mr. Lumley and I were only friends--he never thought of me in--in--the way you mean.”