sees the importance of understanding such points.

She happened to be standing alone when a messenger came up to her and
placed a letter in her hand, addressed to her sister Cornelia. Adela
walked slowly up to the heights. She knew Mr. Barrett's handwriting.
"Good heavens!"--her thought may be translated out of Fine Shades--"does
C. really in her heart feel so blind to our situation that she can go on
playing still?" When she reached the group it was to hear Mr. Powys
speaking of Mr. Barrett. Cornelia was very pale, and stood wretchedly in
contrast among the faces. Adela beckoned her to step aside. "Here is a
letter," she said: "there's no postmark. What has been the talk of that
man?"

"Do you mean of Mr. Barrett?" Cornelia replied:--"that his father was a
baronet, and a madman, who has just disinherited him."

"Just?" cried Adela. She thought of the title. Cornelia had passed on. A
bizarre story of Mr. Barrett's father was related to Adela by Sir
Twickenham. She grappled it with her sense, and so got nothing out of it.
"Disinherited him because he wrote to his father, who was dying, to say
that he had gained a livelihood by playing the organ! He had a hatred of
music? It's incomprehensible! You know, Sir Twickenham, the interest we
take in Mr. Barrett." The masked anguish of Cornelia's voice hung in her
ears. She felt that it was now possible Cornelia might throw over the
rich for the penniless baronet, and absolutely for an instant she thought
nakedly, "The former ought not to be lost to the family." Thick clouds
obscured the vision. Lady Gosstre had once told her that the point of Sir
Twickenham's private character was his susceptibility to ridicule. Her
ladyship had at the same time complimented his discernment in conjunction
with Cornelia. "Yes," Adela now thought; "but if my sister shows that she
is not so wise as she looks!" Cornelia's figure disappeared under the
foliage bordering Besworth Lawn.

As usual, Arabella had all the practical labour--a fact that was noticed
from the observant heights. "One sees mere de famille written on that
young woman," was the eulogy she won from Lady Gosstre. How much would
the great dame have marvelled to behold the ambition beneath the bustling
surface! Arabella was feverish, and Freshfield Sumner reported brilliant
things uttered by her. He became after a time her attendant, aide, and
occasional wit-foil. They had some sharp exchanges: and he could not but
reflect on the