The words brought a bitter pang to Lady Isabel.

"Not enough to eat! Never to taste meat!" And she, in her carelessness,
her ignorance, her indifference--she scarcely knew what term to give
it--had not thought to order him a meal in their house of plenty! He had
walked from West Lynne, occupied himself an hour with her piano, and set
off to walk back again, battling with his hunger. A word from her, and
a repast had been set before him out of their superfluities such as he
never sat down to, and that word she had not spoken.

"You are looking grave, Lady Isabel."

"I'm taking contrition to myself. Never mind, it cannot now be helped,
but it will always be a dark spot on my memory."

"What is it?"

She lifted her repentant face to his and smiled. "Never mind, I say, Mr.
Carlyle; what is past cannot be recalled. He looks like a gentleman."

"Who? Kane? A gentleman bred; his father was a clergyman. Kane's ruin
was his love of music--it prevented his settling to any better paid
profession; his early marriage also was a drawback and kept him down. He
is young still."

"Mr. Carlyle I would not be one of your West Lynne people for the world.
Here is a young gentleman struggling with adversity, and you won't put
out your hand to help him!"

He smiled at her warmth. "Some of us will take tickets--I, for one; but