"Need we make life worse for one another than it is?" he asked. "I cannot help it," she sobbed. "Don't blame me, for I cannot help it." "Suppose I take the matter into my own hands, Lucy, and say you shall help it." "You will not do that," she said, the implied threat restoring her coldness and calmness, though her face turned as pale as the blossoms of the jessamine. "Things are bad enough as they are, but that would make them worse. I should leave your home for good and all--and should have to say why I do so." She knew how to subdue him. This exposure, if she carried it out, might cost his brother's safety. Karl, feeling his helplessness most bitterly, dropped her hands, and went back to his post at the opposite side of the window. "I have not said quite all I wish to say," he began, in a voice from which emotion had passed. "As I had the day in London before me, I thought I would look after a pony-chaise for you, Lucy, and I found a beauty. It will be home in a day or two." "But you have not bought it?" "Yes, I have." "Oh, I'm sorry! I did not want one. But it was very kind of you to think of me, Karl," she added in her gratitude. "And there's a pretty pony to match: a small, quiet, gentle creature. I hope you will like him. I cannot have you running about the place on foot, making yourself ill with the heat." "Thank you; thank you. But I never drove in my life. I fear I should be a coward." "I will drive you until you get used to him. That is, if you will permit me. Lucy, believe me, amidst all my care and trouble, your happiness lies next my heart." On his way to leave the room, he stopped and shook hands with her: perhaps as an earnest of his friendliness. Theresa Blake, walking on the lawn beneath, had seen them conversing together at the window. She thought a taste of Jane Shore's pillory might not have been amiss for bringing Lady Andinnian to her senses. Presently Lucy went down and had tea with Theresa, presiding herself at the cups and saucers by moonlight--for there was little light of day left. Sir Karl did not appear. He was in his room on the other side the house, holding some colloquy with Hewitt. "I am going to have a pony-chaise, Theresa." "Oh, indeed," returned Miss Blake, who seemed in rather a crusty humour. "I thought I heard you say that you did not require one." "Perhaps I may be glad of it, for all that. At any rate, Sir Karl has bought it, pony, and chaise, and all; and they will be down this week." Miss Blake's face was a scornful one just then, in her condemnation of wrong-doing. "He bribes her into blindness," was the thought that ran through her mind. "Why are your eyes so red and heavy, Lucy? They were so at dinner." "My eyes red!" artfully responded Lucy. "Are they? Well, I have had rather a tiring day, Theresa; and it has been so very hot, you know. You ought to have waited for the flower-show. It was one of the best I ever saw." "Yes, I should have liked it."