Mrs. Costello was the first to rouse herself.

"Light the lamp, dear," she said, "and let us have tea. I suppose I must
not get up again."

"No indeed. I will bring my work in here and sit by you."

"Will Maurice be here to-night?"

"He is at the Scotts."

"True, I forgot. We shall be alone, then?"

It was a question; a month ago it would have been an assertion; and
Lucia answered, "Yes."

"Then we may arrange ourselves here without fear of interruption," Mrs.
Costello said more cheerfully. "Bring a book, instead of your work, and
read to me."

She did not then intend to explain Mr. Strafford's letter. Lucia had
almost hoped it, but on the other hand she feared, as perhaps her
mother did, to renew the afternoon's excitement.

So, after tea, she took the last new book and read. Mrs. Costello lay
with her face shaded; she had much to think of,--only old debatings with
herself to go over again for the thousandth time; but all her doubts,
her wishes, her fears quickened into new life by the threatened
discovery, of which the letter lying under her pillow had warned her;
and the changes which a multitude of recollections brought to her