in, to luncheon, in
triumph; rose and all.

"You have a very remarkable voice, my dear!" said Lady Rythdale. "Do
you always sing such melancholy things?"

"You must take my mother's compliments, Nellie, as you would olives--it
takes a little while to get accustomed to them."

Eleanor thought so.

"Do not you spoil her with sweet things," said the baroness. "Come
here, child--let me look at you. You have certainly as pretty a head of
hair as ever I saw. Did you put in that rose?"

"No, ma'am," said Eleanor, blushing with somewhat besides pleasure.

Much to her amazement, the next thing was Lady Rythdale's taking her in
her arms and kissing her. Nor was Eleanor immediately released; not
until she had been held and looked over and caressed to the content of
the old baroness, and Eleanor's cheeks were in a state of furious
protestation. She was dismissed at last with the assurance to Mr.
Carlisle that she was "an innocent little thing."

"But she is not one of those people who are good because they have not
force to be anything else, Macintosh."

"I hope not."

After this, however, Eleanor was spared further discussion. Luncheon
came in; and during the whole discussion of that she was well petted,
both by the mother and son. She felt that she could never break the
nets that enclosed her; this day thoroughly achieved that conclusion to
Eleanor's mind. Yet with a proud sort of mental reservation, she
shunned the delicacies that belonged to Rythdale House, and would have
made her luncheon with the simplicity of an anchorite on honey and
bread, as she might at home. She was very gently overruled, and made to
do as she would not at home. Eleanor was not insensible to this sort of
petting and care; the charm of it stole over her, even while it made
her hopeless. And hopelessness said, she had better make the most of
all the good that fell to her lot. To be seated in the heart of
Rythdale House and in the heart of its master, involved a worldly lot
as fair at least as imagination could picture. Eleanor was made to
taste it to-day, all luncheon time, and when after luncheon Mr.
Carlisle pleased himself with making his mother and her quarrel over
Rochefoucauld; in a leisurely sort of enjoyment that spoke him in no
haste to put an end to the day. At last, and not till the afternoon was
waning, he ordered the horses. Eleanor was put on Black Maggie and
taken home at a gentle pace.

"I do not understand," said Eleanor as