cting smaller tribute, as one having had such greater toll. But
Lydia's wilful hesitation awakened her to some slight curiosity, and she
bade her the more commandingly. Lydia was standing before her, red,
unwillingly civil, and Madame Beattie reached forward and took one of
her little plump work-roughened hands, held it for a moment, as if in
guarantee of kindliness, and then dropped it.

"Now," said she, "who are you?"

Jeffrey, seeing Lydia so put about, answered for her again, but this
time in terms of a warmth which astonished him as it did Lydia.

"She is my sister Lydia."

Madame Beattie looked at him in a frank perplexity.

"Now," said she, "what do you mean by that? No, no, my dear, don't go."
Lydia had turned by the slightest movement. "You haven't any sisters,
Jeff. Oh, I remember. It was that romantic marriage." Lydia turned back
now and looked straight at her, as if to imply if there were any
qualifying of the marriage she had a word to say. "Wasn't there another
child?" Madame Beattie continued, still to Jeff.

"Anne is in the house," said he.

He had placed a chair for Lydia, with a kindly solicitude, seeing how
uncomfortable she was; but Lydia took no notice. Now she straightened
slightly, and put her pretty head up. She looked again as she did when
the music was about to begin, and her little feet, though they kept
their decorous calm, were really beating time.

"Well, you're a pretty girl," said Madame Beattie, dropping her lorgnon.
She had lifted it for a stare and taken in the whole rebellious figure.
"Esther didn't tell me you were pretty. You know Esther, don't you?"

"No," said Lydia, in a wilful stubbornness; "I don't know her."

"You've seen her, haven't you?"

"Yes, I've seen her."

"You don't like her then?" said Madame astutely. "What's the matter with
her?"

Something gave way in Lydia. The pressure of feeling was too great and
candour seethed over the top.

"She's a horrid woman."

Or was it because some inner watchman on the tower told her Jeff himself
had better hear again what one person thought of Esther? Madame Beattie
threw back her plumed head and laughed, the same laugh she had used to
annotate the stories. Lydia immediately hated herself for having
challenged it. Jeffrey, she knew, was faintly smiling, though she could
not guess his inner commentary:

"What a little devil!"

Madame Beattie now turned to him.

"Same old story, isn't it?" she stated. "Every woma