The days pass, and they begin to talk of going up to London. The lovely fall weather is over, and mists and rain obscure the sky. They are glad to huddle around the glowing fires in the luxurious rooms, and Lady Clive's thoughts begin to turn on the subject most dear to the fashionable woman's heart--new dresses. "Vera, you will lay aside your mourning, dear, I hope," she says. "Do you know that those black dresses make you look too sad and thoughtful for your years? Do send Worth an order for something brighter--will you not?" "I will have some white dresses, I think," Lady Vera promises. "Some of those sweet embroidered things!" Lady Clive exclaims, enthusiastically. "She will look lovely in them--don't you think so, Philip?" "She looks lovely in anything," answers the loyal lover, and Lady Vera shivers and represses a sigh. Now and then a shadow from the nearing future falls darkly over her spirit. The memory of her vow of vengeance falls like an incubus over her spirit. What will Philip say to this strange vow of hers, she asks herself over and over. She gives Worth _carte blanche_ for the dresses, and in a few weeks they go up to London, already filling up with fashion and beauty. No one knows how regretfully Lady Vera looks back upon the happy hours she has spent at Fairvale Park with her happy lover. They see that her face is graver, but they do not guess her thoughts. How should they? No one dreams of that oath of vengeance bequeathed her by her dead father. No one knows how often she whispers to herself in the still watches of the wakeful nights: "Soon I shall be face to face with Marcia Cleveland, and must punish her for her wicked sins. How shall I strike her best? What form will my vengeance take?" * * * * * Invitations began to pour in upon them as soon as they were fairly settled at Clive House. Lady Clive decides to attend Lady Spencer's grand ball. Sir Harry objects. "There will be a crush," he says. "Lady Spencer always asks everybody." "Precisely why I am going," responds his vivacious wife. "Crowds always amuse me. Besides, we will see almost everybody who will be here for the season." "Your countrymen, those rich Americans, will be there," Sir Harry insinuates, maliciously. "I can stand that, too," Lady Clive retorts. "I am not to be daunted by trifles. Besides, I want Philip and Vera to see those people." Lady Vera says not a word, but her heart beats high, and there is some little triumph mingled with her thoughts. "Will Mrs. Cleveland and her daughter know me?" she asks herself. "Will they recognize the poor girl whom they injured and insulted so cruelly in the wealthy and honored Countess of Fairvale?"