o her
aunt she did control herself in writing her letters. She would never,
never, write a word which should make Ayala unnecessarily unhappy. On
that she was determined. She would say nothing to explain to Ayala
the unutterable tedium of that downstairs parlour in which they
passed their lives, lest Ayala should feel herself to be wounded by
the luxurious comforts around her.

It was thus she wrote. Then there came a time in which they were to
meet,--just at the beginning of November. The Tringles were going to
Rome. They generally did go somewhere. Glenbogie, Merle Park, and the
house in Queen's Gate, were not enough for the year. Sir Thomas was
to take them to Rome, and then return to London for the manipulation
of the millions in Lombard Street. He generally did remain nine
months out of the twelve in town, because of the millions, making his
visits at Merle Park very short; but Lady Tringle found that change
of air was good for the girls. It was her intention now to remain at
Rome for two or three months.

The party from Scotland reached Queen's Gate late one Saturday
evening, and intended to start early on the Monday. To Ayala, who had
made it quite a matter of course that she should see her sister, Lady
Tringle had said that in that case a carriage must be sent across.
It was awkward, because there were no carriages in London. She had
thought that they had all intended to pass through London just as
though they were not stopping. Sunday, she had thought, was not to
be regarded as being a day at all. Then Ayala flashed up. She had
flashed up some times before. Was it supposed that she was not going
to see Lucy? Carriage! She would walk across Kensington Gardens, and
find the house out all by herself. She would spend the whole day with
Lucy, and come back alone in a cab. She was strong enough, at any
rate, to have her way so far, that a carriage, wherever it came from,
was sent for Lucy about three in the afternoon, and did take her back
to Kingsbury Crescent after dinner.

Then at last the sisters were together in Ayala's bed-room. "And now
tell me about everything," said Ayala.

But Lucy was resolved that she would not tell anything. "I am so
wretched!" That would have been all; but she would not tell her
wretchedness. "We are so quiet in Kingsbury Crescent," she said; "you
have so much more to talk of."

"Oh, Lucy, I do not like it."

"Not your aunt?"

"She is not the worst, though she sometimes is har