be very wicked if he lives twenty years more. And now
Horace is ill, and we can't wait. For he must not and shall not go away,
and perhaps die, without me." And Lottie broke down and wept.

"But what do you want to do?" said Mrs. Blake. It was a shock to her,
and she was sorry for Addie, but she could not repress a thrill of
exultation at the thought that Horace Thorne, whom she had so coveted
for a son-in-law, was caught. The state of his health was serious of
course, but they must hope for the best, and the idea of an alliance
with one of the leading county families dazzled her.

"We want to be married before he goes out, and nobody to know anything
about it," said Lottie; "and then you must take me abroad this winter."

Mrs. Blake declared that it was utterly impossible.

"Oh, very well," said Lottie, drying her tears. "Then I give you fair
warning. I shall run away, and get to Horace somehow. I don't know
whether we can get married abroad--"

"I should think not--a child like you, without my consent," said Mrs.
Blake.

"No, I suppose we couldn't. Well, then, it will be your doing, you know,
if we are not. _I_ shouldn't like to have such a thing on my
conscience," said Lottie virtuously. "But perhaps you don't mind."

Mrs. Blake said that it was impossible that Lottie could be so lost to
all sense of propriety, so wicked, so unwomanly--

The girl stood opposite, slim, white and resolute. Her slender hands
hung loosely clasped before her and a fierce spark burned in her eyes.

"Oh, that's impossible too, is it?" she said quietly. "We'll see."

Mrs. Blake quailed, but murmured something about her "authority."

"Oh yes," was the calm reply. "You might lock me up. Try it: I think I
should get out. Make a fuss and ruin Horace and me. That you _can_ do,
but keep us apart you can't."

"You don't know, you can't know, what it is you talk of doing, or you
couldn't stand there without blushing."

"Very likely not," said Lottie. "But since I know enough to do it--"

"You are a wicked, wilful child."

"Wicked? Perhaps. Yes, I think I am wicked. I'm a child, I know. Help
me, mother, for I love him!"

The argument was prolonged, but the end could not be doubtful. Mrs.
Blake could scold and bluster, but Lottie was determined. The mother was
in bondage to Mrs. Grundy: the daughter played the trump card of her
utter recklessness and won the game.

Having yielded, Mrs. Blake threw herself heart and soul into the sc