“And I know that Lady Rotherwood would not approve,” said Miss Mohun, aware that this settled the matter.  “And here’s another outsider, Miss Penfeather, who offers to interpret handwriting at two-and-sixpence a head.”

“By all means,” was the cry.  “We will build her a bower somewhere near the photography.”

“I am only afraid,” added Jane, “of her offering to do palmistry.  Do you know, I dabbled a little in that once, and I came to the conclusion that it was not a safe study for oneself or any one else.”

“Quite right,” said Geraldine.

“Do you believe in it then?”

“Not so as to practise it, or accept it so far as the future is concerned, and to play at it as a parody of fortune-telling seems to me utterly inadmissible.”

“And to be squashed with Lord Rotherwood’s mighty name,” said her sister, laughing.

Lady Rotherwood would do so effectively.  Wherewith came on the question of raffles, an inexhaustible one, since some maintained that they were contrary to English law, and were absolutely immoral, while others held that it was the only way of disposing of really expensive articles.  These were two statues sent by Mrs. White, and an exquisite little picture by Mrs. Grinstead, worth more than any one could be expected to give.  It was one that she had nearly finished at the time of Mr. Grinstead’s illness-—John Inglesant arriving in his armour of light on his wedding morning-—and the associations were so painful that she said she never wished to see it again.

There were likewise a good many charming sketches of figures and scenery, over which Gerald and Anna grieved, though she had let them keep all they could show cause for; but drawing had become as much her resource as in the good old days.  She was always throwing off little outlines, and she had even begun a grand study, which she called “Safe Home,” a vessel showing signs of storm and struggle just at the verge of a harbour lost in golden light.

And the helmsman’s face?

Clement and Lance neither of them said in words whose it was, as they both stood looking at it, and owned to themselves the steadfast face of their eldest brother, but Clement said, with a sigh—-

“Ah! we are a long way as yet from that.”

“I’m very glad to hear you say so,” exclaimed Lance; then laughing at himself, “You are ever so much better.”

“Oh yes, I suppose I am to start again, going softly all my days, perhaps, and it is well, for I don’t think the young generation can spare me yet.”

“Nor Cherry.”

“How thankful I am to have Cherry restored to me I cannot say, and I do not feel convinced that there may not be care at hand with Gerald.  The boy is in a reserved mood, very civil and amiable, but clearly holding back from confidence.”

“Does she see it?”

“Yes; but she fancies he bestows his confidence on Dolores Mohun, the girl from New Zealand, and resigns herself to be set aside.  It is pretty well time that we went to meet her.”