s not even consulted in that matter of choice, having
already acknowledged the duty of mothering a motherless child. Dosett
had thought that the bullionaire should have said a word as to some
future provision for the penniless girl, for whom he would be able
to do so little. But Sir Thomas had said no such word, and Dosett,
himself, lacked both the courage and the coarseness to allude to the
matter. Then Lady Tringle declared that she must have Ayala, and so
the matter was settled. Ayala the romantic; Ayala the poetic! It was
a matter of course that Ayala should be chosen. Ayala had already
been made intimate with the magnificent saloons of the Tringles,
and had been felt by Lady Tringle to be an attraction. Her long
dark black locks, which had never hitherto been tucked up, which
were never curled, which were never so long as to be awkward, were
already known as being the loveliest locks in London. She sang as
though Nature had intended her to be a singing-bird,--requiring no
education, no labour. She had been once for three months in Paris,
and French had come naturally to her. Her father had taught her
something of his art, and flatterers had already begun to say that
she was born to be the one great female artist of the world. Her
hands, her feet, her figure were perfect. Though she was as yet but
nineteen, London had already begun to talk about Ayala Dormer. Of
course Lady Tringle chose Ayala, not remembering at the moment that
her own daughters might probably be superseded by their cousin.

And, therefore, as Lady Tringle said herself to Lucy with her
sweetest smile--Mrs. Dosett had chosen Lucy. The two girls were old
enough to know something of the meaning of such a choice. Ayala,
the younger, was to be adopted into immense wealth, and Lucy was to
be given up to comparative poverty. She knew nothing of her uncle
Dosett's circumstances, but the genteel house at Notting Hill,--No.
3, Kingsbury Crescent,--was known to her, and was but a poor affair
as compared even with the bijou in which she had hitherto lived. Her
aunt Dosett never rose to any vehicle beyond a four-wheeler, and
was careful even in thinking of that accommodation. Ayala would be
whirled about the park by a wire-wig and a pair of brown horses which
they had heard it said were not to be matched in London. Ayala would
be carried with her aunt and her cousin to the show-room of Madame
Tonsonville, the great French milliner of Bond Street, whereas she,