"Pshaw! she might be a fool, but she isn't," said my lady, sharply. "She will not decline. She has an inkling of what I mean to do. I have talked with the earl. He thinks it would be a pleasant and pertinent arrangement for the house of Lancaster. You know you have to think of your heirs, Clive, and to do the best you can for their future." "Yes," he said, sarcastically. "Well, now I have told you all my hopes and plans, Clive, I want to know what you are going to do. There is no use beating about the bush," said my lady, sharply. "I am going to make Lady Adela's acquaintance before I make up my mind," he answered, undauntedly. "You will fall in love with her. She is a great beauty," my lady said, confidently, as he bowed himself out. CHAPTER XXI. That evening when "sober-suited twilight" had begun to fall over all things, when the stars began to sparkle in the sky, when the air began to be heavy with odors of rose and mignonette and jasmine and the odorous, heavy-scented honeysuckle, Mrs. West came into the sitting-room, where Leonora was leaning from the window, drinking in the peaceful sweetness of the summer eve. "Are you lonely here in the dark, my dear? I will bring a lamp," she said. "Not yet, please, Aunt West," said the girl. "I love this twilight dimness. I love to sit in the darkness and think." "About your poor papa, dear?" asked the good woman. "Tell me about him, Leonora. What did he die of?" "It was a fever, Aunt West. Some day I will tell you all about him, but not just yet, please. I--can not bear it yet. It has been so little a while since I lost him--barely two months!" said Leonora, with the sound of tears in her voice. "Well, well, dear, I did not think. You shall tell me when you please. But that was not what I came for. You know I promised you a peep at the fine folks when they dined. Well, it is time now. In a minute they will assemble. Come with me; I have found a snug place for you." Leonora rose and followed her aunt. They went along some dark corridors, hand in hand, silently, and then Mrs. West put a key softly into a lock and turned it. A door opened. A close, musty scent of dust and disuse breathed in their faces. Mrs. West drew Leonora in and shut the door. "Do not be afraid of the dark, dear," she whispered. "It is only a disused china-closet opening on the dining-hall. There is a broken panel. This way, Leonora. Now, look." There was a broken panel, indeed, that made an aperture as wide as your hand. Through it there streamed a bar of light, making visible the cobwebbed corners of the narrow pantry, with piles of cracked and old-fashioned china arranged upon the shelves, where the dust of years lay thick and dark and musty. Leonora laughed a little at the novelty of her position. "Auntie, I feel like a naughty little girl who has hid in the closet to steal preserves," she whispered. Mrs. West laughed softly too.