"I regret it, and I don't regret it," continued Lady Lorrimer. "If I could go back again into my early self--I wish I could--but the artificial life so perverts and enervates one, I hardly know, honestly, what I wish. I only know there is regret enough to make me discontented, and I think I should have been a great deal happier if I had been compelled to stay at Golden Friars, and had never passed beyond the mountains that surround us here. I have not so long as you to live, Mabel, and I'm glad of it. I am not quite so much of a Sadducee as you used to think me, and I hope there may be a happier world for us all. And, now that I have ended my homminy, as they call such long speeches in this country, will you, dear Ethel, give me a cup of tea?" Lady Lorrimer and I talked. I was curious about some of the places and ruins I had seen, and asked questions, which it seemed to delight her to answer. It is a region abounding in stories strange and marvellous, family traditions, and legends of every kind. "I think," said mamma, _à propos des bottes_, "if he has returned they are sure to know in the town before ten to-night. Would you mind asking again by-and-by?" "You mean about Harry Rokestone?" "Yes." "I will. I'll make out all about him. We saw his castle to-day," she continued, turning to me. "Our not knowing whether he was there or not made it a very interesting contemplation. You remember the short speech Sheridan wrote to introduce Kelly's song at Drury Lane--'There stands my Matilda's cottage! She must be in it, or else out of it?'" Again mamma dropped out, and the conversation was maintained by Lady Lorrimer and myself. In a little while mamma took her leave, complaining of a headache; and our kinswoman begged that I would remain for an hour or so, to keep her company. When mamma had bid her good night, and was gone, the door being shut, Lady Lorrimer laughed, and said: "Now, tell me truly, don't you think if your papa had been with us to-day in the boat, and seen the change that took place in your mamma's looks and spirits from the moment she saw Dorracleugh, and the tall man who stood on the rock, down to the hour of her headache and early good night, he would have been a little jealous?" I did not quite know whether she was joking or serious, and I fancy there was some puzzle in my face as I answered: "But it can't be that she liked Sir Harry Rokestone; she is awfully afraid of him--that is the reason, I'm sure, she was so put out. She never liked him." "Don't be too sure of that, little woman," she answered, gaily. "Do you really think mamma liked him? Why, she was in love with papa." "No, it was nothing so deep," said Lady Lorrimer; "she did not love your papa. It was a violent whim, and if she had been left just five weeks to think, she would have returned to Rokestone." "But there can be no sentiment remaining still," I remarked. "Sir Harry Rokestone is an old man!"