as Madame la Duchesse d'Ivry,
to whom your ladyship introduced him in early life? He told me so: and
she was good enough to inform me of the rest. What attractions have I
in comparison with such women? And to this man from whom I am parted
by good fortune; to this man who writes to remind me that we are
separated--your ladyship must absolutely go and entreat him to give
me another trial! It is too much, grandmamma. Do please to let me stay
where I am; and worry me with no more schemes for my establishment in
life. Be contented with the happiness which you have secured for Clara
Pulleyn and Barnes; and leave me to take care of my poor father. Here
I know I am doing right. Here, at least, there is no such sorrow, and
doubt, and shame, for me, as my friends have tried to make me endure.
There is my father's bell. He likes me to be with him at breakfast and
to read his paper to him."

"Stay a little, Ethel," cried the Countess, with a trembling voice. "I
am older than your father, and you owe me a little obedience--that is,
if children do owe any obedience to their parents nowadays. I don't
know. I am an old woman--the world perhaps has changed since my time;
and it is you who ought to command, I dare say, and we to follow.
Perhaps I have been wrong all through life, and in trying to teach my
children to do as I was made to do. God knows I have had very little
comfort from them: whether they did or whether they didn't. You
and Frank I had set my heart on; I loved you out of all my
grandchildren--was it very unnatural that I should wish to see you
together? For that boy I have been saving money these years past. He
flies back to the arms of his mother, who has been pleased to hate me as
only such virtuous people can; who took away my own son from me; and now
his son--towards whom the only fault I ever committed was to spoil
him and be too fond of him. Don't leave me too, my child. Let me have
something that I can like at my years. And I like your pride, Ethel, and
your beauty, my dear; and I am not angry with your hard words; and if I
wish to see you in the place in life which becomes you--do I do wrong?
No. Silly girl! There--give me the little hand. How hot it is! Mine is
as cold as a stone--and shakes, doesn't it?--Eh! it was a pretty hand
once! What did Anne--what did your mother say to Frank's letter.

"I did not show it to her," Ethel answered.

"Let me see it, my dear," whispered Lady Kew, in a coaxing way.

"The