"Will you make a sketch of the tree, please, Miss Holte? And, as I must do something toward it, I will work at the minor details." Hyacinth sat down at some little distance from the tree and began her task. The morning was bright and almost warm. The sisters at times sat and watched her progress, at others, walked up and down. They conversed before her as unconcernedly as though she had been one of the branches of the oak-tree, and their conversation was all about Lord Chandon. Hyacinth could not hear all they said, but it was evident that Veronica Dartelle was in the highest spirit, and felt sure of her conquest. Tired of walking, they sat down at last close to Hyacinth, and Miss Dartelle, turning to her sister, said: "You have no idea how he has altered since he has been here; he was so dull, so reserved, so gloomy at first--now he talks quite freely to me." "He does not seem to say anything to the purpose," sneered Mildred. "But he will in time, you will see, Milly. If he could only forget that horrid girl!" "What 'horrid girl?'" asked Mildred, with some curiosity. "The girl he used to like--the one who did something or other discreditable. Aubrey told mamma she was a heroine, and one of the truest and noblest girls that ever lived. When Lord Chandon spoke of her to Aubrey, the tears were in his eyes. The girl gave some evidence at a trial, it seems, which saved somebody's life, but lost her home, her friends, and her lover; and has never been seen since." "She must have been a great simpleton," said Mildred, contemptuously. "What would you have done in her place?" asked Veronica. "I should have let the man die," replied her sister. "Self-preservation is the first law of nature. I would not have lost my home, friends, character, lover, and, above all, the chance of being Lady Chandon of Chandon Court, to save the life of any man;" and Mildred Dartelle laughed at the notion of such heroism. "This girl did. Aubrey says that when Lord Chandon speaks of her it is as though she had done something no other woman could do. All the men are the same. Major Elton said he would give his right hand to see her. What nonsense!" "Then does Lord Chandon care for her still?" asked Mildred. "Not as a lover, I should imagine. He affects the greatest admiration for her, and talks of her incessantly; but I should not think he would ever marry a girl who had compromised herself--besides, he cannot find her. She disappeared after the trial, and the general impression seems to be that she is dead. I will teach him to forget her. You shall come to Chandon Court when I am mistress there, and perhaps we may find a rich husband for you." "Many thanks," returned Mildred; "perhaps I may find one before you do. Who knows? If Lord Chandon has been so much in love, I do not see how you can hope that he will ever care for you." "We shall see. Time works wonders."