itting manner." Lady Anna
understood well what was meant, and was silent. Even when she was
alone, her success did not make her triumphant. She could anticipate
that the efforts of all her friends to make her false to her word
would be redoubled. Unless she could see Daniel Thwaite, it would be
impossible that she should not be conquered.

The Serjeant told his wife the promise which he had made on her
behalf, and she, of course, undertook to go to Keppel Street on
the following morning. "You had better bring her here," said the
Serjeant. Mrs. Bluestone remarked that that might be sooner said than
done. "She'll be glad of an excuse to come," answered the Serjeant.
"On such an occasion as this, of course they must see each other.
Something must be arranged about the property. In a month or two,
when she is of age, she will have the undisputed right to do what
she pleases with about three hundred thousand pounds. It is a most
remarkable position for a young girl who has never yet had the
command of a penny, and who professes that she is engaged to marry a
working tailor. Of course her mother must see her."

Mrs. Bluestone did call in Keppel Street, and sat with the Countess a
long time, undergoing a perfect hailstorm of passion. For a long time
Lady Lovel declared that she would never see her daughter again till
the girl had given a solemn promise that she would not marry Daniel
Thwaite. "Love her! Of course I love her. She is all that I have
in the world. But of what good is my love to me, if she disgraces
me? She has disgraced me already. When she could bring herself to
tell her cousin that she was engaged to this man, we were already
disgraced. When she once allowed the man to speak to her in that
strain, without withering him with her scorn, she disgraced us both.
For what have I done it all, if this is to be the end of it?" But at
last she assented and promised that she would come. No;--it would not
be necessary to send a carriage for her. The habits of her own life
need not be at all altered because she was now a Countess beyond
dispute, and also wealthy. She would be content to live as she had
ever lived. It had gone on too long for her to desire personal
comfort,--luxury for herself, or even social rank. The only pleasure
that she had anticipated, the only triumph that she desired, was to
be found in the splendour of her child. She would walk to Bedford
Square, and then walk back to her lodgings in Keppel Street