‘You parted Lesbia and Mr. Hammond,’ said Mary, impetuously.  ’I am sure they loved each other truly.’

‘The old and the worldly-wise are Fate, Mary,’ answered the dowager, not angry at this daring reproach.  ’I know your sister; and I know she is not the kind of woman to be happy in an ignoble life—­to bear poverty and deprivation.  If it had been you, now, whom Mr. Hammond had chosen, I might have taken the subject into my consideration.’

Mary flamed crimson.

‘Mr. Hammond never gave me a thought,’ she said, ’unless it was to think me contemptible.  He is worlds too good for such a Tomboy.  Maulevrier told him about the fox-hunt, and they both laughed at me—­at least I have no doubt Mr. Hammond laughed, though I was too much ashamed to look at him.’

’Poor Mary, you are beginning to find out that a young lady ought to be ladylike,’ said Lady Maulevrier; ’and now, my dear, you may go.  I was only joking with you.  Mr. Hammond would be no match for any granddaughter of mine.  He is nobody, and has neither friends nor interest.  If he had gone into the church Maulevrier could have helped him; but I daresay his ideas are too broad for the church; and he will have to starve at the bar, where nobody can help him.  I hope you will bear this in mind, Mary, if Maulevrier should ever bring him here again.’

’He is never likely to come back again.  He suffered too much; he was treated too badly in this house.’

‘Lady Mary, be good enough to remember to whom you are speaking,’ said her ladyship, with a frown.  ’And now please go, and tell some one to send Steadman to me.’

Mary retired without a word, gave Lady Maulevrier’s message to a footman in the corridor, slipped off to her room, put on her sealskin hat and jacket, took her staff and went out for a long ramble.  The hills and valleys were still white.  It had been a long, cold winter, and spring was still far off—­February had only just begun.

Lady Maulevrier’s couch had been wheeled into the morning-room—­that luxurious room which was furnished with all things needful to her quiet life, her books, her favourite colours, her favourite flowers, every detail studiously arranged for her pleasure and comfort.  She was wheeled into this room every day at noon.  When the day was bright and sunny her couch was placed near the window:  and when the day was dull and grey the couch was drawn close to the low hearth, which flashed and glittered with brightly coloured tiles and artistic brass.

To-day the sky was dull, and the velvet couch stood beside the hearth.  Halcott sat at work in the adjoining bed-chamber, and came in every now and then to replenish the fire:  a footman was always on duty in the corridor.  A spring bell stood among the elegant trifles upon her ladyship’s table; and the lightest touch of her left hand upon the bell brought her attendants to her side.  She resolutely refused to have any one sitting with her all day long.  Solitude was a necessity of her being, she told Mr. Horton, when he recommended that she should have some one always in attendance upon her.