to
her usual melancholy condition, and stole into the carriage in a
broken-hearted manner, weeping under her veil.

After which Miss Wodehouse went home, not having much heart for
further visits. That is to say, she went all the way down Grange Lane,
somewhat tremulous and uncertain in her steps, and went as far as Mrs
Hadwin's, and hesitated at the door as if she meant to call there;
but, thinking better of it, went on a little farther with very
lingering steps, as if she did not know what she wanted. When she came
back again, the door of Mrs Hadwin's garden was open, and the
butcher's boy stood blocking up the way, listening with all his ears
to the notes of the whistle, soft and high and clear like the notes of
a bird which come audibly from among the trees. Miss Wodehouse gave a
little start when she heard it: again she hesitated, and looked in
with such a wistful face that Sarah, the housemaid, who had been about
to slam the door hastily upon the too tender butcher, involuntarily
held it wide open for the expected visitor. "No, not to-day thank
you," said Miss Wodehouse. "I hope your mistress is quite well; give
her my love, and say I meant to come in, but I have a bad headache.
No, thank you; not to-day." She went away after that with a wonderful
expression of face, and reached home long before Lucy had come back
from Prickett's Lane. Miss Wodehouse was not good for much in the
house. She went to the little boudoir up-stairs, and lay down on the
sofa, and had some tea brought her by an anxious maid. She was very
nervous, trembling she could not say why, and took up a novel which
was lying on the sofa, and read the most affecting scene, and cried
over it; and then her sweet old face cleared, and she felt better.
When Lucy came in she kissed her sister, and drew down the blinds, and
brought her the third volume, and then went away herself to arrange
the dessert, and see that everything was in order for one of Mr
Wodehouse's little parties. These were their respective parts in the
house; and surely a more peaceful, and orderly, and affectionate
house, was not to be found that spring evening, either in England or
Grange Lane.

CHAPTER X.

It may be easily supposed after this that Mr Wentworth and his
proceedings were sufficiently overlooked and commented upon in
Carlingford. The Miss Wentworths took old Major Brown's house for six
months, which, as everybody knows, is next door to Dr Marjoribanks. It
was