Lydia, you'll be an old maid. Oh, Lydia!"--the speaker sighed like a
furnace--"I _do_ wish you saw more young men!"

"Well, I saw another one--much handsomer than Lord Tatham--this
afternoon," laughed Lydia.

Mrs. Penfold eagerly inquired. The story was told, and Mrs. Penfold, as
easily lured by a new subject as a child by a new doll, fell into many
speculations as to who the youth could have been, and where he was going.
Lydia soon ceased to listen. But when the coverlet slipped away she did
not fail to replace it tenderly over her mother's feet, and every now and
then her fingers gave a caressing touch to the delicate hand of which
Mrs. Penfold was so proud. It was not difficult to see that of the two
the girl was really the mother, in spirit; the maturer, protecting soul.

Presently she roused herself to ask:

"Where is Susan?"

"She went up to write directly after supper, and we mustn't disturb her.
She hopes to finish her tragedy to-night. She said she had an
inspiration."

"Inspiration or no, I shall hunt her to bed, if I don't hear her door
shut by twelve," said Lydia with sisterly determination.

"Do you think, darling, that Susy--will ever make a great deal of money
by her writings?" The tone was wistful.

"Well, no, mother, candidly, I don't. There's no money in tragedies--so