Mr. and Mrs. Hildyard were sufficiently confounded when the unwelcome news was made known to them. That they were taken with Lord Winchester as a fascinating man and pleasing companion, could not be denied; but that their greatly-beloved daughter should have become attached to one lying under the ban of their faith, was an overwhelming blow. The first time that Mr. Hildyard entered his drawing-room, after hearing the tale, appearances seemed to confirm it, for there sat Frances at the piano, playing ever and anon a few bars with one hand, and his lordship was leaning over her and speaking in whispers. Mrs. Hildyard had dozed asleep upon the sofa, her frequent habit after dinner, and Miss Mary Hildyard sat at the table underneath the light of the great chandelier, forming a wreath of flowers, intended, when worked, to ornament a vail for the profession of a young friend, who was about to become a nun. Altogether, what with the old lady's doze, and the younger one's preoccupation, they had it pretty much to themselves, and Mr. Hildyard walked across the well-carpeted room without being perceived, in time to see the viscount toying with his daughter's ringlets. Frances started up when she saw her father.
"What do you do, Frances, so far from the fire?" he cried with asperity, the first time in her life she ever remembered harsh tones used to her.
"Is it so cold a night?" inquired the young man.
"Very cold, my lord," was the short reply.
"This room is warm any where," observed Frances, as she slowly approached the table where her sister was sitting.
"Shall I sing you your favorite songs to-night, papa?" she inquired.
"No. I am in no mood for singing?"
"Will you give me my revenge at chess?" asked the viscount of Mr. Hildyard.
"If your lordship will excuse me, I shall feel obliged."
So with this chilling reception of course his lordship soon walked himself off, and then Mr. Hildyard spoke to Frances.