"Oh, Lady Tatham! no, no!" cried Lydia—the cry seemed wrung from her—"I—we—have only known Mr. Faversham this short time—but how can one believe—"
She paused, her eyes under their vividly marked eyebrows painfully searching the face of her companion.
Victoria said to herself, "Heavens!—she is in love with him—and she is letting Harry sit up at nights to write to her!"
Her mother's heart beat fast with anger. But she held herself in hand.
"Well; as I have said, we shall soon be able to test him," she repeated, coldly; "we shall soon know what to think. His letter will show whether he is a man with feeling and conscience—a gentleman—or an adventurer!"
There was silence. Lydia was thinking passionately of Mainstairs and of the deep tones of a man's voice—"If you condemn and misunderstand me—then indeed I shall lose heart!"
A humming sound could be heard in the far distance.
"Here they are," said Lady Tatham rising. Victoria's half-masculine beauty had never been so formidable as it was this afternoon. Deep in her heart, she carried both pity for Harry, and scorn for this foolish girl walking beside her, who could not recognize her good fortune when it cried out to her.
They hastened back to the drawing-room; and at the same moment Tatham and
Felicia walked in.
Felicia advanced with perfect self-command, her small face flushed with pink by the motion of the car. In addition to the blue frock, Victoria's maid had now provided her with a short cape of black silk, and a wide straw hat, to which the girl herself had given a kind of tilt, a touch of audacity, in keeping with all the rest of her personality.