"Who but a Carset would dare ask such questions? Getting into scrapes, child; why there never was a family so reckless or so independent. That is, I speak of the males, remember! the ladies of the house—but you will see in the picture gallery, and judge for yourself. No commonplace women can be found among the Carset ladies. Some of them, my child, have intermarried with Royalty itself. You are the last of the line, Lady Clara."
Clara turned pale. She thought of Hepworth Closs, and how far he was removed from royalty; but with no thought of faithlessness in her heart. She was very sure that the next Lord of Houghton would wear neither crown or coronet—but, like a wise girl, she sat still and said nothing.
The old countess was very feeble. Notwithstanding the excitement, which left a tremulous pink on her withered cheeks, the strength began to fail from her limbs. Gathering up her feet upon the couch, she closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, Lady Clara was bending toward her with a look of tender anxiety that went to the old lady's heart. A soft smile stole over her lips, and she held out her hand.
"Go to your room, my child."
Clara stooped down and kissed that delicate mouth with her own blooming lips.
"Sleep well, grandmother," she whispered; "I will come back again by-and-by, after I have seen the other ladies in the picture-gallery."
Clara picked up her hat, and was going out on tip-toe, when Judson laid a long, lean hand on her arm, and addressed her in one of those shrill whispers, which penetrate more surely than words.
"Don't wear that thing into my lady's presence again," she said. "Did you see her eyes, when they first fell upon it?"
"What, my poor little hat? Has grandmamma really taken a dislike to that? I am so sorry."