Raymond took the reins of the barouche, and a gentleman who had slept at the Hall went on the box beside him, leaving room for Rosamond and her brother, who were to be picked up at the Rectory; but when they drew up there, only Rosamond came out in the wonderful bonnet, just large enough to contain one big water-lily, which suited well with the sleepy grace of her movements, and the glossy sheen of her mauve silk. "Terry is not coming. He has a headache, poor boy," she said, as Julius shut her into the barouche. "Take care of him and baby." "Take care of yourself, Madam Madcap," said Julius, with a smile, as she bent down to give him a parting kiss, with perhaps a little pleading for forgiveness in it. But instead of, as last year, shuddering, either at its folly or publicity, Cecil felt a keen pang of desire for such a look as half rebuked, while it took a loving farewell of Rosamond. Was Camilla like that statue which the husband inadvertently espoused with a ring, and which interposed between him and his wife for ever? Rosamond talked. She always had a certain embarrassment in tete-a- tetes with Cecil, and it took form in a flow of words. "Poor Terry! he turned faint and giddy at breakfast. I thought he had been indulging at the refreshment-stall, but he says he was saving for a fine copy of the Faerie Queen that Friskyball told him of at a book- stall at Backsworth, and existed all day on draughts of water when his throat grew dry as showman; so I suppose it is only inanition, coupled with excitement and stuffiness, and that quiet will repair him. He would not hear of my staying with him." "I suppose you do not wish to be late?" "Certainly not," said Rosamond, who, indeed, would have given up before, save for her bonnet and her principle; and whatever she said of Lady Rathforlane's easy management of her nurslings, did not desire to be _too_ many hours absent from her Julia. "I only want to stay till the Three-year-old Cup has been run for," said Cecil. "Mrs. Duncombe would feel it unkind if we did not." "You look tired," said Rosamond, kindly; "put your feet upon the front seat--nobody will look. Do you know how much you cleared?" "Not yet," said Cecil. "I do not know what was made by the raffles. How I do hate them! Fancy that lovely opal Venetian vase going to that big bony Scotswoman, Mr. M'Vie's mother." "Indeed! That is a pity. If I had known it would be raffled for, I would have sent a private commission, though I don't know if Julius would have let me. He says it is gambling. What became of the Spa work-box, with the passion-flower wreath?" "I don't know. I was so disgusted, that I would not look any more. I never saw such an obnoxious girl as that Miss Moy." "_That_ she is," said Rosamond. "I should think she was acting the fast girl as found in sensation novels."