"It is a simple name," replied Lady Isabel; "and simple names are always the most attractive."

"That is just what Archibald thinks. But he wanted this child's to be Barbara. I would not have had it Barbara for the world. I remember his once saying, a long, long while ago that he did not like elaborate names; they were mouthfuls; and he instanced mine and his sister's, and his own. I recalled his words to him, and he said he may not have liked the name of Barbara then, but he loved it now. So we entered into a compromise; Miss Baby was named Anne Barbara, with an understanding that the first name is to be for use, and the last for the registers."

"It is not christened?" said Lady Isabel.

"Only baptized. We should have had it christened before now, but for William's death. Not that we give christening dinners; but I waited for the trial at Lynneborough to be over, that my dear brother Richard might stand to the child."

"Mr. Carlyle does not like christenings made into festivals," Lady Isabel dreamily observed, her thoughts buried in the past.

"How do you know that?" exclaimed Barbara, opening her eyes.

And poor Madame Vine, her pale face flushing, had to stammer forth some confused words that she had "heard so somewhere."

"It is quite true," said Barbara. "He has never given a christening- dinner for any of his children, and gets out of attending if invited to one. He cannot understand the a.n.a.logy between a solemn religious rite and the meeting together afterward to eat and drink and make merry, according to the fashion of this world."

As Lady Isabel quitted the room, young Vane was careering through the corridor, throwing his head in all directions, and calling out,--

"Lucy! I want Lucy!"

"What do you want with her?" asked Madame Vine.

"Il m'est impossible de vous le dire madame," responded he. Being, for an Eton boy, wonderfully up in French, he was rather given to show it off when he got the chance. He did not owe thanks for it to Eton. Lady Mount Severn had taken better care than that. Better care? What could she want? There was one whole, real, live French tutor--and he an Englishman!--for the eight hundred boys. Very unreasonable of her ladyship to disparage that ample provision.

"Lucy cannot come to you just now. She is practicing."

"Mais, il le faut. J'ai le droit de demander apres elle. Elle m'appartient, vous comprenez, madame, cette demoiselle la."

Madame could not forbear a smile. "I wish you would speak English sense, instead of French nonsense."

"Then the English sense is that I want Lucy and I must have her. I am going to take her for a drive in the pony carriage, if you must know.

She said she'd come, and John's getting it ready."

"I could not possibly allow it," said Madame Vine. "You'd be sure to upset her."

"The idea!" he returned, indignantly. "As if I should upset Lucy! Why, I'm one of the great whips at Eton. I care for Lucy too much not to drive steadily. She is to be my wife, you know, ma bonne dame."

At this juncture two heads were pushed out from the library, close by; those of the earl and Mr. Carlyle. Barbara, also, attracted by the talking, appeared at the door of her dressing-room.

"What's that about a wife?" asked my lord of his son.

The blood mantled in the young gentleman's cheek as he turned round and saw who had spoken, but he possessed all the fearlessness of an Eton boy.

"I intend Lucy Carlyle to be my wife, papa. I mean in earnest--when we shall both be grown up--if you will approve, and Mr. Carlyle will give her to me."

The earl looked somewhat impa.s.sable, Mr. Carlyle amused. "Suppose," said the latter, "we adjourn the discussion to this day ten years?"

"But that Lucy is so very young a child, I should reprove you seriously, sir," said the earl. "You have no right to bring Lucy's name into any such absurdity."

"I mean it, papa; you'll all see. And I intend to keep out of sc.r.a.pes-- that is, of nasty, dishonorable sc.r.a.pes--on purpose that Mr. Carlyle shall find no excuse against me. I have made up my mind to be what he is--a man of honor. I am right glad you know about it, sir, and I shall let mamma know it before long."

The last sentence tickled the earl's fancy, and a grim smile pa.s.sed over his lips. "It will be war to the knife, if you do."

"I know that," laughed the viscount. "But I am getting a better match for mamma in our battles than I used to be."

n.o.body saw fit to prolong the discussion. Barbara put her veto upon the drive in the pony carriage unless John sat behind to look after the driver, which Lord Vane still resented as an insult. Madame Vine, when the corridor became empty again, laid her hand upon the boy's arm as he was moving away, and drew him to the window.

"In speaking as you do of Lucy Carlyle, do you forget the disgrace reflected on her by the conduct of her mother?"

"Her mother is not Lucy."

"It may prove an impediment, that, with Lord and Lady Mount Severn."

"Not with his lordship. And I must do--as you heard me say--battle with my mother. Conciliatory battle, you understand, madame; bringing the enemy to reason."

Madame Vine was agitated. She held her handkerchief to her mouth, and the boy noticed how her hands trembled.

"I have learnt to love Lucy. It has appeared to me in these few months'

sojourn with her, that I have stood to her in light of a mother. William Vane," she solemnly added, keeping her hold upon him, "I shall soon be where earthly distinctions are no more; where sin and sorrow are no more. Should Lucy Carlyle indeed become your wife, in after years, never, never cast upon her, by so much as the slightest word of reproach, the sin of Lady Isabel."

Lord Vane threw back his head, his honest eyes flashing in their indignant earnestness.

"What do you take me for?"

"It would be a cruel wrong upon Lucy. She does not deserve it. That unhappy lady's sin was all her own; let it die with her. Never speak to Lucy of her mother."

The lad dashed his hand across his eyes for they were filling.

"I shall. I shall speak to her often of her mother--that is, you know, after she's my wife. I shall tell her how I loved Lady Isabel--that there's n.o.body I ever loved so much in the world, but Lucy herself. I cast a reproach to Lucy on the score of her mother!" he hotly added. "It is through her mother that I love her. You don't understand, madame."

"Cherish and love her forever, should she become yours," said Lady Isabel, wringing his hand. "I ask it you as one who is dying."

"I will--I promise it. But I say, madame," he continued, dropping his fervent tone, "what do you allude to? Are you worse?"

Madame Vine did not answer. She glided away without speaking.

Later, when she was sitting by twilight in the gray parlor, cold and shivering, and wrapped up in a shawl, though it was hot summer weather, somebody knocked at the door.

"Come in," cried she, apathetically.

It was Mr. Carlyle who entered. She rose up, her pulses quickening, her heart thumping against her side. In her wild confusion she was drawing forward a chair for him. He laid his hand upon it, and motioned her to her own.

"Mrs. Carlyle tells me that you have been speaking to her of leaving-- that you find yourself too much out of health to continue with us."

"Yes, sir," she faintly replied, having a most imperfect notion of what she did say.

"What is it that you find to be the matter with you?"

"I--think--it is chiefly--weakness," she stammered.