“Are you working, Law? I hope you are working. Does Mr. Ashford think you are getting on?” she would say. But these were not like the energetic protests of old. And when Law answered that he was getting on pretty well, but that old Ashford didn’t say much--it wasn’t his way--Lottie accepted the reply, and asked no more questions. And Law accordingly took “his fling,” being left free on all sides. Why shouldn’t he take his fling? The others were doing it--even Lottie; did she think he was blind not to see how often that fellow Ridsdale was spooning about, and how many more walks she took than she used to? Captain Temple got tired of coming for her. Very often she had gone before he came--and would run back breathless, and so sorry to have missed him. What did all that mean if not that Lottie was taking her fling too? And his father--Captain Despard--was speeding very quickly towards such a thing as would startle the whole town, not to speak of the Abbey. It would be hard if Law were the only one to have his nose kept to the grindstone; and this, we may be sure, was the last thing he meant to allow. As for Lottie, she carried on the business of her life in a way. The house did not suffer--the dinner was always punctual, and the stockings mended, notwithstanding dreams. She found time, indeed, for more actual occupation than before. She went to the Signor’s--Mrs. O’Shaughnessy generally, but sometimes Captain Temple, going with her when she went for her lessons--and she went to the Abbey more frequently than she had been used to do. These lessons were moments of excitement for the Signor’s household. When it was the old Captain who had accompanied Miss Despard, Mrs. Purcell was had in from her room, where she sat expectant among her jam cupboards; and profound was her interest. She sat near the door hemming some dusters, while the lesson went on; but sometimes would drop her work and cross her hands, and raise her eyes to the dusky heaven of the ceiling.