Then she continued, with a disdainful
toss of her head, "No, truly; I suppose
my Italian blood renders me incapable of
worshipping at that shrine. Dio mio!
Life is so short! And so little sweet!
Why embitter it voluntarily with Mrs.
Grundy?"

"Yet in your heart–confess now–you
are a little afraid of her?"

"I might answer you as you answered
Maud: am I a pickpocket to be afraid o
f the policeman?"

"Miss Desmond's retort did not hit the
case. The policeman merely administers
laws: Mrs. Grundy makes them."

"She shall make none for me," said
Veronica, looking very handsome in her
scorn.

Sir John gazed upon her curiously; but
he said no more at that time. The subject,
however, seemed to have a peculiar
attraction for him, and he returned to it
frequently.

On the Friday morning preceding the
Sunday fixed for Maud's return home,
there came a letter to the vicar from his
ward. The purport of it was, to ask his
leave to stay a short time longer at Lowater
House. There was to be a concert at
Danecester, to which Mrs. Sheardown had
promised to take her. At the end of the
letter were a few words about Hugh
Lockwood.

"Do you know, Uncle Charles," wrote
Maud, " that Mr. Lockwood knows my
Aunt Hilda? He heard accidentally that
I was a niece of Lady Tallis, and he then
mentioned that he and his mother had
made her acquaintance at a watering-place
three or four years ago; and that Mrs.
Lockwood and my aunt became quite
intimate. They have not seen her for a long
time; but she promised to let them
know, whenever she came to London. I
cannot have seen Aunt Hilda since I
was seven years old, when she came one
day to see poor mamma; yet my
recollection of her is a correct one, for Mr.
Lockwood describes her as a small slight
woman with delicate features and beautiful
eyes. This is just what I remember. Only
he says she is now sadly faded."

"Dear me!" said the vicar, "odd enough
that these Lockwoods should have come
across Lady Tallis! Here is a postscript
for you, Veronica, asking you to send back
some dress or other by Captain Sheardown's
man. See to it, will you?" Then the
vicar, having handed his daughter the letter,
went away to his study.

Veronica read the letter from beginning
to end. She read it more than once. There
was a good deal in it about that Hugh
Lockwood, she thought. She remembered
what Miss Begbie had said about him, and
her lip curled. She care for the attentions
of such a one as Mr. Hugh Lockwood!
Emma Begbie should change her tone some
day. Pazienza!

Veronica got together the articles for
which Maud had asked, and as she did so,
she scarcely knew whether she were glad
or sorry that Maud was going to remain
a while longer at Lowater House.

"Dear old Maudie! I hope she will
enjoy herself." Then she wondered what
Maud would say to her daily walk with Sir
John Gale, and whether Maud would
perceive the growing devotion of his manner
towards herself. And then she looked in
the glass with a triumphant smile. But in
a moment the blood rushed up to her brow,
and she turned away impatiently. Was she
afraid in her secret heart, as Sir John had
said? No: not afraid of the gossiping
malice of the world: not afraid of Mrs.
Grundy. But she had a latent dread of
Maud's judgment. Maud had such a lofty
standard, such a pure ideal. Bah! People
all wished to be happy; all strove and
struggled for it. She, Veronica, was at
least honest to herself. She did not gild
her motives with any fine names. She
longed to be happy in her own way,
instead of pretending to be happy in other
people's way.

That very afternoon, Sir John Gale
announced that Mr. Flew had told him he
might quite safely venture to travel, He
made the communication to Veronica a
s they stood side by side leaning over the low
wall of St. Gildas's churchyard, and looking
at the moss-grown graves, all velvety
and mellow under the slanting rays of the
declining sun.

"Mr. Plew was very hard and cruel," said
Sir John in a low voice. "Very hard
and inexorable. I tried to hint to him
that my strength was not yet sufficiently
recovered to render my taking a journey, a
safe experiment. But it was in vain. Was
he not cruel?"

Veronica stood still and silent, supporting
her elbow on the low wall of the graveyard,
and leaning her cheek on her hand.

"Was he not cruel, Veronica?"

His voice sank to a whisper as he uttered
her name, and drawing nearer, he took the
unoccupied hand that hung listlessly by
her side.