indeed I am," he said. "I wish I could help
him. And indeed, Miss Manuel, you have a
friend in him, for he was fighting your battle like
a trump. Not, indeed, that any one was saying
anything—that is——" And he stopped in some
confusion.

Pauline smiled. "Do you think I mind?
You may tell me the truth. They were abusing
me, and he defended me. Well?"

"Defended you," said Young Brett, with
enthusiasm, "it was regular championship. He
would have fought Romaine for you. Really, he
wanted to have him out at once. You ought to
like him, I say, Miss Manuel."

After Young Brett was gone, Miss Manuel
thought of this with softness. "It is something
to have a friend," she said, "and if I had any
influence with him for her sake, I might use it to
bring him back to that child who hates me so."
Later, she sat down and wrote, and directed a
letter to Captain Fermor.

CHAPTER XLIII. NEWS FOR LADY LAURA.

THIS was now the day of Lady Laura's great
festival. Everything had been hurried on, and
everything was ready—under her captaincy. She
had found money, time, stage properties, people,
everything; for even in their own department
Blanche and Laura junior were to all intents
and purposes utterly helpless. She would have
turned out the same in any department. Had
she been suddenly appointed to the commissariat
in the Crimea, she would have found a
sudden instinct for the duties, and have performed
them quite as well as the men of the
regular service. She now showed that she knew
about scenes and about painting, and with good
sense directed the working hands whom she was
obliged—alas! at great cost—to have in. She even
trained Laura junior and Blanche, and taught
them some happy and effective poses. She found
time for all this, and it was not known that the
charming Swiss shepherdess dress, in which
Laura was to appear, had been privately put
together by those old, and worn, and untiring fingers,
though it was popularly believed to be a triumph
of Madame Adelaide's skill. She had been a
little disturbed at Young Spendlesham's absence
from the wedding breakfast; but she soon
discovered that he had been called away suddenly
to the country, but would be back that evening
positively. For the moment she had been disquieted,
but this news set everything straight.

On this last day she was everywhere—in working
clothes, as it were. She overlooked the men
putting up a canopy at the hall door, and others
busy forming the balcony into a temporary
chamber, which she knew would be valuable for
the purposes for which she had lived. These
were sad expenses; but they were of the last
necessity, and she had got them put up far
cheaper than any man or woman in town could
have had them put up. Nor was she without
hopes of profit for her outlay; for already she
seemed to detect on the edge of the web she had
spun round Laura junior (Laura junior was
incapable of forming a web for herself), a figure of
fair proportions looking in curiously. That night
might see him floundering helplessly in the net.
Success brings success, just as eating brings
on appetite.

To this day, too, many had been looking forward.
But in the Fermor house it was to bring on a
crisis. The unhappy man had come home—
degraded it may be— but full of miserable pique
and rage, that could not find the object it desired,
but thirsted for a victim. He associated Mrs.
Fermor with his treatment. "if I die for it,"
he said, "she shall not have this opportunity!"
It was remarked by the ladies and gentlemen
below, that the lord and lady of the house "did
not speak" now. News of the family émeutes
had penetrated to neighbouring areas. Mrs.
Fermor—to whose injuries every day's neglect
added—met his treatment with stern defiance,
and was girding herself up for this last struggle.

Not, indeed, that she cared for that wretched
show. She shrank from it, and from the
unknown issues that rested on it. But her coral
lips, a little thinner than they had been, were
pressed together with the tightness of defiance.
One soft word, and they had been relaxed; but
she only saw corresponding defiance, and a sort
of unconditional hostility.

It was a gloomy day, and seemed charged with
presentiments. Later on, towards the evening,
came the servant to know at what hour would
the carriage be wanted. Mrs. Fermor was passing
up-stairs, and she heard her lord, in the hall
below, saying, in a loud sour voice, "It is not
wanted to-night. Who said it was? What does
the fellow come worrying here for? He will be
sent to if required."

"He was told to call up, sir. Mrs. Fermor
sent me."

"I tell you he is not wanted," said Fermor,
furiously.

And the serving gentleman, at the evening tea,
informed his friends below that up-stairs they
would be "Hat it again afore night!"

Mrs. Fermor, on the stairs, heard this interdict
of the carriage. "So he wants to drive me
to extremities," she said. "Let him, then.
Here, John!" she called out, "don't let the
man go yet." And she stepped down excitedly
—to battle.

She shut the study door. "What is this
about the carriage?" she said, trying to speak
calmly. "I shall want it to-night."

"Is it to go to this thing?" he answered her.

"No matter for what purpose," she answered.
"I am entitled to it. I am sure you don't intend
to expose our affairs to the talk of the people
below."

"Not for that. I told you before I don't
choose you to go to this place. I am determined,
I know, and I want no argument about it."

"That remains to be seen," she said, her foot
beating the floor. "I am going. Fortunately,
there are other carriages to be got."