Maud was as happy as the day was long—so happy that she found it easy to be gracious to all the world, even to Uncle Belassis and Aunt Celia; and to her old friend and playfellow Lewis, she was all that cousin could wish. His silent homage and increased admiration flattered and pleased her (for without being vain or exacting, Maud was not above the delights of feeling her own power), and the knowledge that he was looked upon as a desirable husband for her was not entirely distasteful, although her mind was by no means made up on that subject. Maud was in no hurry to marry, or even to pledge herself to do so. Her life with her brother was far too pleasant to make her wish for any change. At the same time she was fully aware that her decision as regards Lewis Belassis must eventually be made, and made at no very distant date, and she was fully alive to the advantages that would be gained by following her father’s wishes in regard to her future; in addition to this, she was learning in a pleasant and practical manner the advantages of wealth, and she was insensibly growing less and less inclined to yield up her own fortune into the hands of another. It had been Tor’s wish that she should not be troubled on this point, but allowed to think the matter over by herself, so that neither he nor Aunt Olive had ever alluded to the subject in her presence. This silence, however, did not quite suit Miss Maud. Her nature was outspoken and frank, and the matter which concerned her and her cousin Lewis did not lie so near to her heart but that she could speak of it readily. Aunt Olive, after that twilight talk with Tor, had watched with some anxiety the frequent meetings between Maud and Lewis, and was growing uneasy at the apparent pleasure she seemed to take in his society. So she was not sorry when the girl at length opened the subject of her own accord. Tor was away on business. Lewis had dined at Ladywell, and he and Maud had strolled out afterwards, as they often did. In half an hour the girl returned alone, and stretched herself languidly in a luxurious chair, clasping her hands behind her head. The soft lamplight fell upon her white drapery and dusky hair with picturesque effect, and her aunt could not but think how very fair she looked in her maiden grace and childlike unconsciousness of scrutiny. ‘I wish Phil would not go away so often. It is so dull without him.’ ‘He seems to have a great deal of business to get through. Business must be attended to, you know, my dear.’ ‘I wish he’d leave it to the bailiff, then,’ answered Maud. ‘I can’t bear him to be away. He’s such a dear boy, isn’t he, Aunt Olive?’ ‘He is most kind and good to everyone; a true gentleman, and a true Debenham.’ Maud gave a little soft laugh. ‘I thought he was too bold for a Debenham, aunty.’ ‘Well, my dear, your poor dear father was a timid, peaceable man; but I think you and your brother have more of your mother in you. Poor Maud was gentle, but she was not timid.’