"Oh, mamma," she cried, "I'm sure I don't know what we shall do. The more I look up things, the worse they seem. It is dreadful; it is horrible. I shall blush for shame." "And why, may I ask?" said Mrs Alleyne, sternly. "Because people will do nothing but spy out the poverty of the land. Moray has no sense at all, or he would never have been so foolish as to ask them." "Your brother had his own good reasons for asking Sir John Day, his brother, and his daughter, and I beg that you will not speak in that disrespectful way of your brother's plans." "But you don't see, mamma." "I see everything, my child," said Mrs Alleyne, stiffly. "But you don't think how awkward it will be." "Yes, I have thought of all that." "But Moray never does. How are we to entertain people who are accustomed to live in luxury, and who have abundance of plate and china and glass, and servants to wait upon them? Oh, we shall look ridiculous." "Lucy!" "I don't care, mamma, I can't help it. I've been working away to see if I could not get things in proper trim to do us justice, but it is horrible. Moray must write and tell them they are not to come." "My son shall do nothing of the kind, Lucy, and I desire that you do the best you can, so that Moray may be content." "But, mamma, we have no flowers, no fruit for dessert, no pretty glass and vases; and I know the dinner will be horrible." "Moray asked the Days to come and see us, not our household arrangements, and we must give them some dinner before they go up into the observatory." "Oh, very well, mamma," said Lucy, "I have protested. You and Moray must have it your own way." "Of course," said Mrs Alleyne, composedly; "and I beg that you will find no more fault with your brother's arrangements." "No, mamma: I have done." "I dare say Captain Rolph very often dines far worse at his mess than we shall dine to-morrow." "But surely he is not coming, mamma," cried Lucy in horror; "he will be jeering at everything." "If he is so extremely ungentlemanly, it is no fault of ours. Yes, he is coming; and, by the way, I did not tell you, I have just asked Mr Oldroyd to join us." "Mamma!" cried Lucy, turning scarlet. "Now don't exclaim against that, my dear," said Mrs Alleyne. "I am sure it will be almost a charity to have him here. He cannot be too grand for our simple ways." Poor Lucy shrank away looking very thoughtful, and, resigning herself to fate, went busily about the house, working like a little slave, and arranging the place to the best advantage; but only to break down at last, with a piteous burst of tears, as she saw how miserable a result she had achieved, and compared her home with that of Glynne. Mrs Alleyne was not in much better spirits, indulging herself as she did in various wringings of the hands in closets and corners, but all in the most furtive way, as she too thought of the barrenness of the house.