"A generous fierceness dwells with innocence

And conscious virtue is allowed some pride."

DRYDEN.

The melancholy days of autumn came on apace, and by-and-by the Manor was deserted. The Bruce-Errington establishment removed again to town, where business, connected with his intending membership for Parliament, occupied Sir Philip from morning till night. The old insidious feeling of depression returned and hovered over Thelma's mind like a black bird of ill omen, and though she did her best to shake it off she could not succeed. People began to notice her deepening seriousness and the wistful melancholy of her blue eyes, and made their remarks thereon when they saw her at Marcia Van Clupp's wedding, an event which came off brilliantly at the commencement of November, and which was almost entirely presided over by Mrs. Rush-Marvelle. That far-seeing matron had indeed urged on the wedding by every delicate expedient possible.

"Long engagements are a great mistake," she told Marcia,--then, in a warning undertone she added, "Men are capricious nowadays,--they're all so much in demand,--better take Masherville while he's in the humor."

Marcia accepted this hint and took him,--and Mrs. Rush-Marvelle heaved a sigh of relief when she saw the twain safely married, and off to the Continent on their honeymoon-trip,--Marcia all sparkling and triumphant,--Lord Algy tremulous and feebly ecstatic.

"Thank Heaven that's over!" she said to her polite and servile husband. "I never had such a troublesome business in my life! That girl's been nearly two seasons on my hands, and I think five hundred guineas not a bit too much for all I've done."

"Not a bit--not a bit!" agreed Mr. Marvelle warmly. "Have they--have they--" here he put on a most benevolent side-look--"quite settled with you, my dear?"

"Every penny," replied Mrs. Marvelle calmly. "Old Van Clupp paid me the last hundred this morning. And poor Mrs. Van Clupp is so very grateful!" She sighed placidly, and appeared to meditate. Then she smiled sweetly and, approaching Mr. Marvelle, patted his shoulder caressingly. "I think we'll do the Italian lakes, dear--what do you say?"

"Charming--charming!" declared, not her lord and master, but her slave and vassal. "Nothing could be more delightful!"

And to the Italian lakes accordingly they went. A great many people were out of town,--all who had leisure and money enough to liberate themselves from the approaching evils of an English winter, had departed or were departing,--Beau Lovelace had gone to Como,--George Lorimer had returned with Duprèz to Paris, and Thelma had very few visitors except Lady Winsleigh, who was more often with her now than ever. In fact, her ladyship was more like one of the Errington household than anything else,--she came so frequently and stayed so long. She seemed sincerely attached to Thelma,--and Thelma herself, too single-hearted and simple to imagine that such affection could be feigned, gave her in return, what Lady Winsleigh had never succeeded in winning from any woman,--a pure, trusting, and utterly unsuspecting love, such as she would have lavished on a twin-born sister. But there was one person who was not deceived by Lady Winsleigh's charm of manner, and grace of speech. This was Britta. Her keen eyes flashed a sort of unuttered defiance into her ladyship's beautiful, dark languishing ones--she distrusted her, and viewed the intimacy between her and the "Fröken" with entire disfavor. Once she ventured to express something of her feeling on the matter to Thelma--but Thelma had looked so gently wondering and reproachful that Britta had not courage to go on.




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