“I wonder what you were doing last night, when you ought to have been in bed?” the old lady began, with a treacherous amiability of manner.  “Oh, I am not mistaken! your door was open, my dear, and I looked in.”

“Why did you look in, Mrs. Presty?”

“My young friend, I was naturally anxious about you.  I am anxious still.  Were you in the house? or out of the house?”

“I was walking in the garden,” Sydney replied.

“Admiring the moonlight?”

“Yes; admiring the moonlight.”

“Alone, of course?” Sydney’s friend suggested.

And Sydney took refuge in prevarication.  “Why should you doubt it?” she said.

Mrs. Presty wasted no more time in asking questions.  She was pleasantly reminded of the words of worldly wisdom which she had addressed to her daughter on the day of Sydney’s arrival at Mount Morven.  “The good qualities of that unfortunate young creature” (she had said) “can not have always resisted the horrid temptations and contaminations about her.  Hundreds of times she must have lied through ungovernable fear.”  Elevated a little higher than ever in her own estimation, Mrs. Presty took Sydney’s arm, and led her down to breakfast with motherly familiarity.  Linley met them at the foot of the stairs.  His mother-in-law first stole a look at Sydney, and then shook hands with him cordially.  “My dear Herbert, how pale you are!  That horrid smoking.  You look as if you had been up all night.”

Mrs. Linley paid her customary visit to the schoolroom that morning.

The necessary attention to her guests had left little leisure for the exercise of observation at the breakfast-table; the one circumstance which had forced itself on her notice had been the boisterous gayety of her husband.  Too essentially honest to practice deception of any kind cleverly, Linley had overacted the part of a man whose mind was entirely at ease.  The most unsuspicious woman living, his wife was simply amused “How he does enjoy society!” she thought.  “Herbert will be a young man to the end of his life.”

In the best possible spirits—­still animated by her successful exertions to entertain her friends—­Mrs. Linley opened the schoolroom door briskly.  “How are the lessons getting on?” she began—­and checked herself with a start, “Kitty!” she exclaimed, “Crying?”

The child ran to her mother with tears in her eyes.  “Look at Syd!  She sulks; she cries; she won’t talk to me—­send for the doctor.”

“You tiresome child, I don’t want the doctor.  I’m not ill.”

“There, mamma!” cried Kitty.  “She never scolded me before to-day.”