Meanwhile Mrs. West's mind teemed with uneasy thoughts.
"She's rather strange, I'm afraid," the good woman said to herself. "I think, perhaps, poor Dick has humored her some—she will not bear restraint well—I can see that! And what will Lady Lancaster say to a grown-up girl instead of a little one, as we expected? I'm afraid I see rocks ahead. And yet how pretty and bright she is—too pretty to belong to the housekeeper's room, I'm afraid. Lady Lancaster will be vexed at her, if ever she sees her. She is too independent in her ways to suit my lady. They must not be allowed to meet as long as I can help it," sighing.
[CHAPTER XIX.]
Lady Lancaster was pleased to be very gracious indeed to her returned nephew.
"Ah, you are as big and handsome as ever, Clive!" she said, "and well, of course. I believe you never were sick in your life?"
"Hardly ever," he replied, with a laugh, adding, with veiled anxiety: "I hear that you have killed the fatted calf in my honor, Aunt Lydia. Whom have you staying with you?"
"A few nice people from London, Clive—twenty in all, I think. There are old Lord and Lady Brierly, and their son and daughter, Sir Charles Winton, Colonel Livingston, Mark Dean and his pretty sister, the Earl of Eastwood and his beautiful daughter, Lady Adela, the Cliffords, and some other people. You will meet them all at dinner. I think you know them all?"
"Yes, I suppose so," he answered, rather absently.