Costello was
both puzzled and annoyed; Maurice, worn out in mind and body, and only
resolute to shield Lucia at his own expense; Lucia herself more
thoroughly uncomfortable than she had ever been in her life. She partly
understood Maurice's conduct, but doubted its motives. Sometimes she
thought he was influenced by his old dislike to Percy, and that even his
kindness to herself was mixed with disapproval or contempt. Sometimes a
suspicion of the truth, so faint and so unreasonable in her own eyes,
that she would not acknowledge it for a moment, flashed across her mind;
and this suspicion had its keenly humiliating as well as its comforting
side. Besides the confusion of thoughts regarding these things, her mind
was burdened with an entirely new trouble--the sense that she was
concealing something from her mother; and this alone would have been
quite sufficient to disturb and distress her.

So the three who had been so happy for the last few weeks sat together,
with all their content destroyed. Maurice thought bitterly of the old
Canadian days, which had been happy, too, and to which Percy's coming
had brought trouble.

"It is the same thing over again," he said to himself; "but why such a
fellow as that should be allowed to do so much mischief is a problem _I_
can't solve. A tall idiot, who could not even care for her like a man!"

But he would not allow himself any hard thoughts of Lucia. Perhaps he
had had some during his solitary day, but he had no real cause for them,
and he was too loyal to find any consolation in blaming her. And it
never would have come into his head to solace himself with the "having
known _me_." He valued his own honest, unaltering love at a reasonable
but not an excessive, price--himself at a very low one; and as Lucia
understood nothing of the one, he did not wonder that she should slight
the other. And yet he was very miserable.

Ten o'clock came at last, and he went away. After he was gone, Lucia
came to her mother's knee, and sat down, resting her aching head against
the arm of the chair. The old attitude, and the soft clinging touch,
completely thawed the slight displeasure in Mrs. Costello's heart.

"Something is wrong, darling," she said. "If you do not want to tell me,
or think you ought not, remember I do not ask any questions; but you
have never had a secret from me."

Lucia raised her mother's hand, and laid it on her forehead.

"I ought to tell you, mamma," she said, "and I