Till we got home I did not say a word; and then I sat down in my room, and meditated on that odd occurrence, as well as my perturbation would let me. It was a strange mixture of surprise, doubt, and intense mortification. It was very stupid of me not to have ascertained at the time the name of the street which was the scene of this incident. Miss Pounden had never seen either Lady Lorrimer or Mr. Carmel; and the occurrence had not made the least impression upon her. She could not therefore help me, ever so little, next day, to recover the name of the street in which I had stood still for a few seconds, looking at she knew not what. There was just a film of doubt, derived from the inexplicable behaviour of the supposed Lady Lorrimer. When I told mamma, she at first insisted it was quite impossible. But, as I persisted, and went into detail, she said it was very odd. She was thoughtful for a little time, and sighed. Then she made me repeat all I had told her, and seemed very uncomfortable, but did not comment upon it. At length she said: "You must promise me, Ethel, not to say a word about it to your papa. It would only lead to vexation. I have good reasons for thinking so. Speak of it to no one. Let the matter rest. I don't think I shall ever understand some people. But let us talk about it no more." And with this charge the subject dropped. CHAPTER XXVIII. A SEMI-QUARREL. Mamma did not remain long in town. Bleak as the weather now was, she and papa went to Brighton for a fortnight. They then went, for a few days, to Malory; and from that, northward, to Golden Friars. I dare say papa would have liked to find Lady Lorrimer there. I don't know that he did. I, meanwhile, was left in the care of Miss Pounden, who made a very staid and careful chaperon. I danced every day, and pounded a piano, and sang a little, and spoke French incessantly to Miss Pounden. My spirits were sustained by the consciousness that I was very soon to come out. I was not entirely abandoned to Miss Pounden's agreeable society. Mr. Carmel re-appeared. Three times a week he came in and read, and spoke Italian with me for an hour, Miss Pounden sitting by--at least, she was supposed to be sitting there on guard--but she really was as often out of the room as in it. One day I said to him: "You know Lady Lorrimer, my aunt?" "Yes," he answered, carelessly. "Did you know she was my aunt?" "Your great-aunt, yes." "I wonder, then, why you never mentioned her to me," said I. "There is nothing to wonder at," he replied, with a smile. "Respecting her, I have no curiosity, and nothing to tell." "Oh! But you must know something about her--ever so little--and I really know nothing. Why does she lead so melancholy a life?" "She has sickened of gaiety, I have been told." "There's something more than that," I insisted. "She's not young, you know, and society is a laborious calling."