“That being the case, I have been to the Lacustrian office, and engaged myself to be its hack, since I must have some fixed pay while she lives.  Perhaps I shall be able to do a little extra writing and lecturing, especially if she gets better, enough to spare Lida to help me.  Her voice really is a lovely soprano, and draws wonderfully, but I don’t want it to be strained too early.  Our good Irishwoman, Mrs. Macbride, is willing to let us have her two rooms, left empty by her sons going west, and her daughter marrying, on fair terms, Lida promising to be a sort of help and to teach the children.  We shall eat with them.  I shall be at the office all day and half the night, so I don’t need a sitting-room.  Don’t be anxious, dear old Cherie.  We shall do very well, and it is only for a time.  Lida is like a little angel, and as thankful for a smile from her mother as if she had been the reprobate runaway. 
                                            “Your ever-loving
          
                                         “GERALD.”

This was the letter that came to Mrs. Grinstead, and one with similar information went to Dolores Mohun at her college at Cambridge.  Dolores, who had found Mysie much more sympathetic than Gillian, could not but write the intelligence to her, and Mysie was so much struck with the beauty of the much-injured brother and sister devoting themselves to their mother, that she could not help telling the family party at breakfast.

“That’s right,” said Lord Rotherwood.  “The mother can clear up the doubt if any one can.  Is there nothing about it?”

“No,” replied Mysie; “I should think the poor woman was too ill to be asked.”

“They must not let her slip through their fingers without telling,” added Ivinghoe.

“I have a mind to run over to Rocca Marina and see what more they have heard there,” said Lord Rotherwood.  “I suppose your letter is from one of the girls there?”

“Oh no, it is from Dolores.”

“Dolores!  She is at Cambridge.  Then this news must have been round by Clipstone!  They must have known it for days past at Rocca!” exclaimed Lord Rotherwood.

“No,” said Mysie, “this came direct to Dolores from Gerald Underwood himself. -—Oh, didn’t you know?  I forgot, nobody was to know till Uncle Maurice gave his consent.”

“Consent to what?” exclaimed Ivinghoe.

“To Dolores and Gerald!  Oh dear, mamma said so much to me about not telling, but I did think Cousin Rotherwood knew everything.  Please-—”

Whatever she was going to ask was cut short by Ivinghoe’s suddenly striking on the table so as to make all the cups and saucers ring as he exclaimed—-

“If ever there lived a treacherous Greek minx!” Then, “I beg your pardon, mother.”

He was off:  they saw him dash out of the house.  There was a train due nearly at this time, as all recollected.

“Papa, had not you better go with him?” said Lady Rotherwood.