Maurice, nor special dainties for the little picnic basket. That same
day, too, Lydia and Mr. Preston had a long conversation.

"It is settled then," said the lawyer, "and you stay on here and
manage everything on the old footing until we hear from Mr. Bell. I
have telegraphed, but he is not likely to reply except by letter. You
may reckon yourself safe not to be disturbed out of your present snug
quarters for the winter."

"And hard I must save," said Lydia; "I have but beggary to face when
I'm turned out."

"Some of your money will be secured," replied the lawyer. "I can
promise you at least three hundred."

"What is three hundred to live on?"

"You can save again. You are still a young woman."

"I am forty-five," replied Lydia Purcell. "At forty-five you don't
feel as you do at twenty-five. Yes, I can save; but somehow there's
no spirit in it."

"I am sorry for you," replied the lawyer. Then he added, "And the
children--the children can remain here as long as you stay."

But at the mention of the children, the momentary expression of
softness, which had made Lydia's face almost pleasing, vanished.

"Mr. Preston," she said, rising, "I will keep those children, who