“It may come to that yet, some of these days.”

“I pray God that it may.”  Then again she was serious, and the tears came once more into her eyes.  “I pray God that it may.  To be of use to you,—­to work for you,—­to do something for you that may have in it some sober, earnest purport of usefulness,—­that is what I want above all things.  I want to be with you at once that I may be of service to you.  Would that you and I were alone together, that I might do everything for you.  I sometimes think that a very poor man’s wife is the happiest, because she does do everything.”

“You shall do everything very soon,” said he; and then they sauntered along pleasantly through the morning hours, and when they again appeared at Mrs Dale’s table, Mrs Dale and Bell were astonished at Lily’s brightness.  All her old ways had seemed to return to her, and she made her little saucy speeches to Mr Crosbie as she had used to do when he was first becoming fascinated by her sweetness.  “You know that you’ll be such a swell when you get to that countess’s house that you’ll forget all about Allington.”

“Of course I shall,” said he.

“And the paper you write upon will be all over coronets,—­that is, if ever you do write.  Perhaps you will to Bernard some day, just to show that you are staying at a castle.”

“You certainly don’t deserve that he should write to you,” sad Mrs Dale.

“I don’t expect it for a moment,—­not till he gets back to London and finds that he has nothing else to do at his office.  But I should so like to see how you and Lady Julia get on together.  It was quite clear that she regarded you as an ogre; didn’t she, Bell?”

“So many people are ogres to Lady Julia,” said Bell.

“I believe Lady Julia to be a very good woman,” said Mrs Dale, “and I won’t have her abused.”

“Particularly before poor Bernard, who is her pet nephew,” said Lily.  “I dare say Adolphus will become a pet too when she has been a week with him at Courcy Castle.  Do try and cut Bernard out.”

From all which Mrs Dale learned that some care which had sat heavy on Lily’s heart was now lightened, if not altogether removed.  She had asked no questions of her daughter, but she had perceived during the past few days that Lily was in trouble, and she knew that such trouble had arisen from her engagement.  She had asked no questions, but of course she had been told what was Mr Crosbie’s income, and had been made to understand that it was not to be considered as amply sufficient for all the wants of matrimony.  There was little difficulty in guessing what was the source of Lily’s care, and as little in now perceiving that something had been said between them by which that care had been relieved.