“I don’t know.  I was so disgusted, that I would not look any more.  I never saw such an obnoxious girl as that Miss Moy.”

“That she is,” said Rosamond.  “I should think she was acting the fast girl as found in sensation novels.”

“Exactly,” said Cecil, proceeding to narrate the proposed election; and in her need of sympathy she even told its sequel, adding, “Rosamond, do you know what she meant?”

“Is it fair to tell you?” said Rosamond, asking a question she knew to be vain.

“I must know whether I have been deceived.”

“Never by Raymond!” cried Rosamond.

“Never, never, never!” cried Cecil, with most unusual excitement.  “He told me all that concerned himself at the very first.  I wish he had told me who it was.  How much it would have saved!  Rosamond, you know, I am sure.”

“Yes, I made Julius tell me; but indeed, Cecil, you need not mind.  Never has a feeling more entirely died out.”

“Do you think I do not know that?” said Cecil.  “Do you think my husband could have been my husband if he had not felt that?”

“Dear Cecil, I am so glad,” cried impulsive Rosamond; her gladness, in truth, chiefly excited by the anger that looked like love for Raymond.  “I mean, I am glad you see it so, and don’t doubt him.”

“I hope we are both above that,” said Cecil.  “No, it is Camilla that I want to know about.  I must know whether she told me truth.”

“She told! what did she tell you?”

“That he—­Raymond—­had loved some one,” said Cecil in a stifled voice; “that I little knew what his love could be.  I thought it had been for her sister in India.  She told me that it was nobody in the country.  But then we were in town.”

“Just like her!” cried Rosamond, and wondered not to be contradicted.

“Tell me how it really was!” only asked Cecil.

“As far as I know, the attachment grew up with Raymond, but it was when the brother was alive, and Sir Harry at his worst; and Mrs. Poynsett did not like it, though she gave in at last, and tried to make the best of it; but then she—­Camilla—­as you call her—­met the old monster, Lord Tyrrell, made up a quarrel, because Mrs. Poynsett would not abdicate, and broke it off.”

“She said Mrs. Poynsett only half consented, and that the family grew weary of her persistent opposition.”

“And she made you think it Mrs. Poynsett’s doing, and that she is not possible to live with!  O, Cecil! you will not think that any longer.  Don’t you see that it is breaking Raymond’s heart?”

Cecil’s tears were starting, and she was very near sobbing as she said, “I thought perhaps if we were away by ourselves he might come to care for me. She said he never would while his mother was by—­ that she would not let him.”

“That’s not a bit true!” said Rosamond, indignantly.  “Is it not what she has most at heart, to see her sons happy?  When has she ever tried to interfere between Julius and me?  Not that she could,” added Rosamond to herself in a happy little whisper, not meant to be heard, but it was; and with actual though suppressed sobs, Cecil exclaimed—­