She said: "How do you feel after the concert? You must be hard to please
indeed if you were not satisfied with the accompaniments last night."

"The accompaniments of the Oratorio?"

"No, my dear. The accompaniments of Philip."

I suppose I ought to have laughed. In my miserable state of mind, it was
not to be done. I said: "I hope Mr. Dunboyne's father will not hear how
kind he was to me."

Mrs. Staveley asked why.

My bitterness overflowed at my tongue. I said: "Because papa is a poor
man."

"And Philip's papa is a rich man," says Mrs. Staveley, putting my
own thought into words for me. "Where do you get these ideas, Eunice?
Surely, you are not allowed to read novels?"

"Oh no!"

"And you have certainly never seen a play?"

"Never."

"Clear your head, child, of the nonsense that has got into it--I can't
think how. Rich Mr. Dunboyne has taught his heir to despise the base act
of marrying for money. He knows that Philip will meet young ladies at my
house; and he has written to me on the subject of his son's choice of a
wife. 'Let Philip find good principles, good temper, and good looks; and
I promise beforehand to find the money.' There is what he says. Are you
satisfied with Philip's father, now?"

I jumped up in a state of ecstasy. Just as I had thrown my arms round
Mrs. Staveley's neck, the servant came in with a letter, and handed it
to me.

Helena had written again, on this last day of my visit. Her letter was
full of instructions for buying things that she wants, before I leave
London. I read on quietly enough until I came to the postscript. The
effect of it on me may be told in two words: I screamed. Mrs. Staveley
was naturally alarmed. "Bad news?" she asked. Being quite unable to
offer an opinion, I read the postscript out loud, and left her to judge
for herself.

This was Helena's news from home:

"I must prepare you for a surprise, before your return. You will find a
strange lady established at home. Don't suppose there is any prospect
of her bidding us good-by, if we only wait long enough. She is already
(with father's full approval) as much a member of the family as we
are. You shall form your own unbiased opinion of her, Eunice. For the
present, I say no more."

I asked Mrs. Staveley what she thought of my news from home. She said:
"Your father approves of the lady, my dear. I suppose it's good news."

But Mrs. Staveley did not look as if she believed in the good news, for
all that