So, then, the little project of Cousin Monica’s guardianship, which, had it been poor papa’s wish, would have made me so very happy, was quite knocked on the head, to revive no more.  I comforted myself, however, with her promise to re-open communications with Bartram-Haugh, and we grew resigned.

I remember, next morning, as we sat at a very late breakfast, Lady Knollys, reading a letter, suddenly made an exclamation and a little laugh, and read on with increased interest for a few minutes, and then, with another little laugh, she looked up, placing her hand, with the open letter in it, beside her tea-cup.

‘You’ll not guess whom I’ve been reading about,’ said she, with her head the least thing on one side, and an arch smile.

I felt myself blushing—­cheeks, forehead, even down to the tips of my fingers.  I anticipated the name I was to hear.  She looked very much amused.  Was it possible that Captain Oakley was married?

‘I really have not the least idea,’ I replied, with that kind of overdone carelessness which betrays us.

’No, I see quite plainly you have not; but you can’t think how prettily you blush,’ answered she, very much diverted.

‘I really don’t care,’ I replied, with some little dignity, and blushing deeper and deeper.

‘Will you make a guess?’ she asked.

‘I can’t guess.’

‘Well, shall I tell you?’

‘Just as you please.’

’Well, I will—­that is, I’ll read a page of my letter, which tells it all.  Do you know Georgina Fanshawe?’ she asked.

‘Lady Georgina?  No.’

’Well, no matter; she’s in Paris now, and this letter is from her, and she says—­let me see the place—­“Yesterday, what do you think?—­quite an apparition!—­you shall hear.  My brother Craven yesterday insisted on my accompanying him to Le Bas’ shop in that odd little antique street near the Greve; it is a wonderful old curiosity shop.  I forget what they call them here.  When we went into this place it was very nearly deserted, and there were so many curious things to look at all about, that for a minute or two I did not observe a tall woman, in a grey silk and a black velvet mantle, and quite a nice new Parisian bonnet.  You will be charmed, by-the-by, with the new shape—­it is only out three weeks, and is quite indescribably elegant, I think, at least.  They have them, I am sure, by this time at Molnitz’s, so I need say no more.  And now that I am on this subject of dress, I have got your lace; and I think you will be very ungrateful if you are not charmed with it.”  Well, I need not read all that—­here is the rest;’ and she read—­