"Well!" he reflected; "it would be disagreeable!"

"Yes--but would it make you give up all the things you
like?--golfing--and cards--and parties--and the girl you were engaged
to--and take to slumming, and that kind of thing?"

The slight inflection of the last words drew smiles. Mr. Ferrier held
up a finger.

"Miss Alicia, I shall lend you no more books."

"Why? Because I can't appreciate them?"

Mr. Ferrier laughed.

"I maintain that book is a book to melt the heart of a stone."

"Well, I tried to cry," said the girl, putting another grape into her
mouth, and quietly nodding at her interlocutor--"I did--honor bright.
But--really--what does it matter what your father did?"

"My _dear!_" said Lady Lucy, softly. Her singularly white and finely
wrinkled face, framed in a delicate capote of old lace, looked coldly at
the speaker.

"By-the-way," said Mr. Ferrier, "does not the question rather concern
you in this neighborhood? I hear young Brenner has just come to live at
West Hill. I don't now what sort of a youth he is, but if he's a decent
fellow, I don't imagine anybody will boycott him on account of his
father's misdoings."