she said to him, seemed as if it took in the innocent hand as well as the peccant head.  “I do think Sebastian Dundas is bewitched,” she said disdainfully to her son as they drove up to the house.  “Did any one ever hear of such a lunatic?  Changing the name of his house with his wives in this manner, and expecting us to remember all his absurdities!  Such a man as that to be a father!  Lord of the creation, indeed!  He is no better than a court fool.”  Which last scornful ejaculation brought the trap to the front door and into the presence of Leam.

Standing on the lawn bareheaded in the morning sunshine, doing nothing and apparently seeing nothing, dressed in the deepest mourning she could make for herself, and with her high comb and mantilla as in olden days, her eyes fixed on the ground and her hands clasped in each other, her wan face set and rigid, her whole attitude one of mute, unfathomable despair,—­for the instant even Mrs. Corfield, with all her constitutional contempt for youth, felt hushed, as in the presence of some deep human tragedy, at the sight of this poor sorrowful child, this miserable mourner of fifteen.  Instead of speaking in her usual quick manner, the sharp-faced little woman, poor Pepita’s “crooked stick,” went up to the girl quietly and softly touched her arm.

Leam slowly raised her eyes.  She did not start or cry out as a creature naturally would if startled, but she seemed as if she gradually and with difficulty awakened from sleep, or from something even more profound than sleep.  “Yes?” she said in answer to the touch.  “What do you want?”

It was an odd question, and Leam’s grave intensity made it all the more odd.  But Mrs, Corfield was not easily disconcerted, and it was “only Leam” at the worst.

“I want you,” she answered briskly, “Tell the maid to pack up your box, take off that lace thing on your head, and come home with me for a day or two.  You need not stay longer than you like, but it will be better for you than moping here, thinking of all sorts of things you had better not think of.”

“Why do my thoughts vex you?” asked Learn gravely.  “I was not thinking of you.”

Mrs. Corfield laughed a little confusedly.  “I don’t suppose you were,” she said, “but you see I did think of you.  But whether you were thinking of me or not, you certainly look as if you would be the better for a little rousing.  You were standing there like a statue when we came up.”

“I was listening to mamma,” said Leam with an air of grave rebuke.

Mrs. Corfield rubbed her nose vigorously.  “You would do better to come and talk to me instead,” she said.

Learn transfixed her with her eyes.  “I like mamma’s company best,” she said in the stony way which she had when stiffening herself against outside influence.

“But if you come to us, you can listen to her as much as you like,” said Alick soothingly.  “We will not hinder you; and, as my mother says, it is not good for you to be here alone.”