“No but, John,” repeated Lizzie, “can’t you do something for me?  Tell me whether Laura Melcombe has been already invited?”

“She has not, Miss Grant.”

“I have no doubt, if you asked Grand to let the visit be put off till the middle of September, he would.”

“I shouldn’t wonder.”

“Then you’ll do it, won’t you? because you know you and I have always been such friends.”

“Now you mention it, I think we have; at any rate, I don’t dislike you half so much as I do some of my other friends.  Yes, child, your confidence is not misplaced.”

“Then I may leave the matter in your hands?” exclaimed Liz joyfully.

“You really may,” replied John Mortimer, and he took her back to the pony carriage in a high state of bliss and gratitude.

This change, however, which was easily effected, made a difference to several people whom Miss Grant had no wish to disoblige.  First, Mrs. Melcombe, finding that Laura was invited to pay a long visit, and that the invitation was not extended to her, resolved not to come home by Wigfield at all; but when Laura wrote an acceptation, excused herself from coming also, on the ground of her desire to get home.

Grand, therefore, did not see Peter, and this troubled him more than he liked to avow.  Brandon was also disappointed, for he particularly wanted to see the boy and his mother again.  The strangeness of his step-father’s letter grew upon him, and it rather fretted him to think that he could not find any plausible reason for going over to Melcombe to look about him.  He was therefore secretly vexed with his sister when he found that, in consequence of her request to John, the plans of all the Melcombes had been changed.  So Liz with a cheerful heart went to the sea-side with Mrs. Henfrey and Valentine, and very soon wrote home to Miss Christie Grant that Dorothea had joined them, that the long-talked-of offer had been made and (of course) accepted, and that Giles was come.  She did not add that Giles had utterly lost his heart again to his brother’s bride elect, but that she would not have done if she had known it.

Miss Christie was wroth on the occasion.

“It’s just shameful,” she remarked.  “Everybody knew Miss Graham would accept him, but why can’t she say how it was and when it was?  She’s worse than her mother.  ‘Dear Aunt,’ her mother wrote to me, ’I’m going to marry Mr. Mortimer on Saturday week, and I hope you’ll come to the wedding, but you’re not to wear your blue gown.  Your affectionate niece, EMILY GRANT.’  That was every word she said, and I’d never heard there was anything between her and Mr. Mortimer before.”

“And why were you not to wear your blue gown?” inquired John Mortimer.

“Well,” replied Miss Christie, “I don’t deny that if she hadn’t been beforehand with me I might just slyly have said that my blue gown would do, for I’d only had it five years.  I was aye thrifty; she knew it was as good as ever—­a very excellent lutestring, and made for her wedding when she married Mr. Grant—­so she was determined to take my joke against her out of my mouth.”