A

tion with which she had been moved. Nor would any man in hor place have had the wit to conceal it. She instantly busied herself, however, in unlacing her boots, an occupation that accounts for blood to the head in any lady.

After a tap as light as a woodpecker's Clara entered serenely, and with a beaming smile. She was evidently not angry at having had to play the unaccustomed part of second fiddle in their recent excursion. It would have been unreasonable, indeed, if she had been so, since the alternative of playing the first had been in her power had she chosen to assert it. On the whole, Lucy would have preferred her to show some sign of annoyance. Such magnanimity seemed only the assertion of her superior strength.

'You have been a long time changing your boots, my dear,' were her sister's first words, spoken with sly significance, and as she drew near her sister, still engaged in that occupation, she patted her bent-down head. It was intolerable, thought Lucy, that Clara should not only thus patronise her as usual, but show by her manner that she was conscious of what had been distressing her; and it was with difficulty that she restrained herself from giving way to tears.

'Mamma has been full of questions, Lucy, about your young friend of Bridge Hill,' continued Clara, cheerfully, but I assure you I have been discretion itself.'

'My young friend!' cried Lucy, jumping up, with scarlet face, and speaking with great indignation, I really don't know what you mean,'

'I mean Mr. Trevor, of course; you took to him so very kindly, I thought; or, if you prefer it, let me say he took so very kindly to you-and you did not seem to resent it. Why should you then resent my saying so?'

This was just what Lucy could not tell her; and as her question remained unanswered, Clara went quietly on.

'I thought him a very pleasant young fellow myself, though I confess I was not so taken with him as you were: he is rather too undignified for my taste. For my part, I prefer a man conscious of his own importance, and of having a stake in the country; dull, because he has a right to be dull.'

She advanced to the mirror-an article of furniture which had as natural an attraction for her as a book to the bookwormand regarded herself with complacency. Lucy looked at her with amazement. It was not her sister's nature to be cruel; she never played, even with her enemies, as a cat with a mouse.

'No,' here she took off her bonnet and smoothed a few truant hairs away, your young friend-if, as they say in the House of Commons," you will allow me to call him so "-is too exacting for me; his spirits are at high pressure; he is not only amusing

-a doubtful gift, and somehow inconsistent with a really good position-but, also, he expects to be amused. You are very well qualified to fulfil his expectations in that way; but for me it would be a strain upon the intellect, demanding a sacrifice of one's own nature which would be only justified in the case of a most unexceptionable parti, which this gentleman certainly is not.'

'My dear Clara, how can you talk in that way?' said Lucy. Her words were words of reproof; but her voice was as bright as that of a bird when the winter is over and gone.

'Because I think in that way; and to you, my dear, I talk as I think. I hope it will always be so. Why should we have any secrets from one another, we two?'

'Ah! why, indeed? Yet a few minutes ago it had seemed to Lucy that there was one whose very name she could never have uttered to her sister, and whose picture was to remain for ever in the sanctuary of her own heart, with its face, as it were, to the wall.

'Papa has come home full of praises of Lady Trevor. If I were mamma, or, rather, if you were mamma-for jealousy is not a weakness of mine-you would be downright jealous of her. She is quite beautiful still, he says, and has charming manners. Sir Richard-but that's only natural, for dear papa is but a man, after all-did not make so favourable impression on him. He does not seem to give himself much trouble to make himself agreeable. But that's nothing; I dare say with you and me it will be quite the other way. But what concerns you most is that, as papa left the Court, he came across our young friend, Mr. Charles.'

'Charles? You mean Hugh ?'

'No, no,' there was a little spot over Clara's eyebrow, which, with the help of the looking-glass, she was carefully removing with her handkerchief, a delicate operation over which sho paused, Charles was of course the one we met. He told us, you remember, he was in the law; whereas his elder brother, as is only right and proper, neither toils nor spins.'

'Sir Richard wrote to say they were bringing Hugh with them.' 'Very likely; but if so, the arrangement was altered. Hugh is not to be here for another day or two. In the meantime, I congratulate you upon your conquest. Papa actually came upon him still singing your favourite ditty, "The Poacher." He said he had learnt it from a parishioner of his he had met on the road, who, papa thinks, must have been Jack Beeton. He was quite concerned that the young man should have come across so unfavourable a specimen of his flock on his first arrival. Upon the whole I think it is just as well that you were not present when papa related the incident.'

Lucy agreed with her from the bottom of her heart, which had now as much remorse in it as happiness had left room for. How cruelly she had misjudged dear Clara! who, it seemed, after all, had not harboured a selfish thought. It was strange how she could have mistaken Charles for Hugh Trevor, when, as her sister had reminded her, he had distinctly alluded to himself as a burrister; whereas his brother had no profession. As for being rallied about him, which she would have resented in anyone else, that was only her sister's way, and it was useless, she knew, to contest it. Still, she did make some slight protest.

'What a ridiculous affair it has been from beginning to end !' she exclaimed.

'Let us say, in the beginning my dear, and hope that the end may be more serious,' observed Clara gravely. It certainly was not wise of you to select "The Poacher" as an opening melody. If it had happened to be the future Sir Hugh who overheard it, it would hardly have been a passport to his affections. He, of course, is all for the Game Laws; whereas, your audience of one, being a younger son, a ballad in opposition to the laws of the land captivated him at once.'

'How can you be so silly, Clara ?'

'Silly? Come, you are not so diffident as to have persuaded yourself that the attraction was all on one side. What? There was nothing on either side that you are aware of? Then why did you fly at me like a tigress when I ventured to say I thought him rather audacious? Why did you not come in at once, as I did, to mamma, and narrate your little adventure? Because you could not trust yourself to do it. In describing how you met that most unretiring young gentleman, your voice would have broken with emotion. Why did you shut yourself up in your own room and do nothing but think about him, when you got there, for a quarter of an hour, till you heard my foot upon the stairs, which reminded you that you had not yet unlaced your boots? Because I don't take things that way myself, do you suppose I don't know how other girls take them? You are wondering, perhaps, why I do not congratulate you on your conquest?'

I am doing nothing of the kind,' cried Lucy indignantly 'You are making me very angry, Clara.'

'No, I'm not; upon the whole, I am rather pleasing you, because I am corroborating your own views on the matter. Don't distress yourself about how it happened. Nobody can say you fished for him-he swallowed the hook without any bait at all upon it. The only doubt that presents itself to my mind, is whether it is worth your while to land him, or rather, if you have landed him, whether you should not throw him in again, as we throw in the dace and the bleak when we are fishing in the river. You heard what papa said about all the Trevor property

being entailed upon the eldest son. I don't know what Sir Marmaduke's savings may have been, but they can't have been much.'

'You are perfectly horrid, Clara.'

'I am glad it strikes you so, my dear, because in your present high-flown and sentimental state of mind that is a proof of my common sense. I cannot say I much approve of your penchant for this young gentleman, but he is better at all events than Dr. Wood. To poor girls in our position love is very much like the domestic game of pounce commerce-we must do the best we can for ourselves, and always keep changing one's hand, as the cards come round, for a better one. When the deal comes to an end we must "stand," of course; but, in the meantime, all arrangements should be more or less subject to change.'

'Clara you are positively shameless; I blush for you.'

Thank you my dear; you do it very becomingly, I am sure. You must not however, come downstairs with that beautiful colour, or it may be thought you are blushing about somebody else. I have made, however, everything as easy for you as I can with respect to that matter. Mamma knows that he has produced a favourable impression upon you, and that is all. I am aware you think me much too calculating, but, on the other hand, you have too little self-command. We have somehow both missed "the golden mean," as papa calls old Austen. I wonder by-the-bye, if the worst had come to the worst, if I could ever have brought myself to marry old Austin ?'

'A drunken farmer!'

'A gentleman farmer, if you please, my dear, a little close as regards money matters, and whose perverted taste leads him to prefer gin to claret, but who is reported to be the last rich agriculturist left in England. It would not have been a merry life, of course, but it would have been a short one-that is, for him. That's right, now I've shocked you. You wanted a douche. What a sister you have, who sacrifices even her own self-respect to be of service to you! Now put on your 'hightems," which will be an excuse for your delaying so long in your room, for we are all to be in the Four Acre at two o'clock; then we shall see you-know-whom again, and, perhaps, his lovely mother, if her nerves will permit of it,' and with a pinch of her sister's ear-a sign of her being in high goodhumour-Clara marched out of the room.

Lucy was always a little afraid of Clara; but never so much so as when that stately personage condescended to be mirthful, which only happened when she was alone with her. To the world at large she was cold and haughty, though without a spice of cynicism; but now and again she would favour her sister with outbursts of good-humour, which Lucy hardly knew

whether to take in jest or earnest. Perhaps they were mere escapes from the safety-valve; perhaps they had the serious motive of preparing the mind of the only person in the world she loved for some course, which she knew would have her disapproval, but which some day she might think proper to adopt. On the present occasion Clara's 'fun' had, at all events, had the effect she had professed to be its intention-that of a douche bath. It had so shocked her sister, that the remembrance of it cut short all reflections upon her own affairs, and did away with the embarrassment arising from self consciousness. She made her appearance below stairs, attired en fête, just in time for luncheon. Her mother only gave her a glance of approval, which said, 'You look very nice, my dear; and her father remarked, in his bantering way, 'The aloe takes a long time to flower; but, when it does so, dear me!'

6

CHAPTER IX.

THE PAVILION.

THE Four Acre was a straggling, undulating field, with a sort of table-land in the centre, sufficiently large and flat for cricketing. The games played upon it were of more than local importance, and at the top of the field was a permanent erection, called by courtesy the Pavilion,' where the elevens on both sides with certain spectators of position, were wont to be entertained on match-days. It was not, however, large enough for the festivities consequent upon the home-coming of Sir Richard and his wife; and, therefore, a tent had been built out of it, furnished with three parallel tables, upon which a profusion of refreshments suited to juvenile tastes had been set out by the Baronet's orders, but under the direction of Mrs. Thorne. To her it was owing that this simple meal had the appearance of a dinner à la russe, so plentifully was it adorned with fruit and flowers. The head-table, which was the prominent one, and dominated the others, though less gorgeous to the eye, was laden with more solid fare, designed for the tenants of the estate, among whom were the disappointed deputation: Jacob Austin, of the Home Farm, still distended, like an over-ripe pumpkin for whose seed there is no market, with his oft-conned speech; good-natured, easy-going John Wurzel, who had been living on his capital for the last ten years, with as much complacency as though it were dividends, and had still a hunter in his stable; and Ralph Ward, the Poor-Law guardian, who found an explanation for every form of depression, including that of the barometer, in the spread of what he called 'eddication.'