James shouted from behind to know why they had not been let into the house; and as Clara rushed in at the door and he walked on with Mary to leave her at home and fetch his grandmother, who had been spending the evening with Mrs. Ponsonby, he muttered, ’I don’t know which is most intolerable!  He neglects her, talks what, if it be not nonsense, might as well be; and as if she were not ready enough to misunderstand, Sydney Calcott must needs thrust in his wits to embroil her understanding.  Mary! can’t you get her to see the stuff he is made of?’

’If she cannot do that for herself, no persuasion of mine will make her,’ said Mary.

’No! you do not half appreciate him either!  No one does!  And yet you could, if you tried, do something with her!  I see she does not think you prejudiced.  You made an impression to-night.’

Mary felt some consternation.  Could it depend on her?  She could speak naturally, and from her heart in defence of Louis when occasion served; but something within her forbade the thought of doing so on a system.  Was that something wrong!  She could not answer; but contented herself with the womanly intuition that showed her that anything of persuasion in the present state of affairs would be ineffectual and unbecoming.

Meantime, Clara had fled to her little room, to bid her childhood farewell in a flood of bitter tears.

Exaggerated shame, past disdain of the foibles of others, the fancy that she was publicly disgraced and had forfeited Louis’s good opinion, each thought renewed her sobs; but the true pang was the perception that old times were passed for ever.  He might forgive, he would still be friend and cousin; but womanhood had broken on her, and shown that perfect freedom was at an end.  Happy for her that she wept but for the parting from a playfellow!  Happy that her feelings were young and undeveloped, free from all the cruel permanence that earlier vanity or self-consciousness might have given; happy that it could be so freely washed away!  When she had spent her sobs, she could resolve to be wise and steady, so as to be a fit governess to his children; and the tears flowed at the notion of being so distant and respectful to his lordship.  But what stories she could tell them of his boyhood!  And in the midst of—­’Now, my dears, I will tell you about your papa when he was a little boy,’ she fell asleep.

That party was a thing to be remembered with tingling cheeks for life, and Clara dreaded her next meeting with Louis; but the days passed on without his coming to the Terrace, and the terror began to wear off, especially as she did not find that any one else remembered her outbreak.  Mary guarded against any unfavourable impression by a few simple words to Isabel and Miss King as to the brotherly terms that had hitherto prevailed, and poor Clara’s subsequent distress.  Clara came in for some of the bright tints in which her brother was viewed at the House Beautiful; Walter was very fond of her, and she had been drawn into a friendship for Virginia, cemented in the course of long walks, when the schoolroom party always begged for Mr. and Miss Dynevor, because no one else could keep Walter from disturbing Louisa’s nerves by teasing her pony or sliding on dubious ice.