 Chapter 7 of Ayala's Angel Tom Tringle, though he had first appeared to his cousin Ayala as a newfoundland dog which might perhaps be pleasantly playful, and then as the same dog, very unpleasant because dripping with muddy water, was nevertheless a young man with so much manly truth about him as to be very much in love. He did not look like it, but then perhaps the young men who do fall most absolutely into love do not look like it. To Ayala her cousin Tom was as unlovable as Mr. Septimus' traffic. She could like them both well enough while they would be kind to her, but as to regarding cousin Tom as a lover, the idea was so preposterous to her that she could not imagine that anyone else should look upon it as real. But with Tom the idea had been real, and was moreover permanent. The black locks which would be shaken here and there, the bright glancing eyes which could be so joyous and could be so indignant, the colour of her face which had nothing in it of pink, which was brown rather, but over which the tell-tale blood would rush with the quickness which was marvellous to him, the lithe quick figure which had in it nothing of the weight of earth, the little foot which in itself was a perfect joy, the step with all the elasticity of a fawn. These charms together had mastered him. Tom was not romantic or poetic, but the romance and poetry of Ayala had been divine to him. It is not always like to like in love. Tatania loved the weaver-bottom with the ass's head, blue-beard though a bad husband is supposed to have been fond of his last wife. The beauty has always been beloved by the beast. To Ayala the thing was monstrous, but it was natural. Tom Tringle was determined to have his way, and when he started for Rome he was more intent upon his love-making than all the glories of the capital and the Vatican. When he first made his appearance before Ayala's eyes he was bedecked in a manner that was awful to her. Down at Glen Bogey he had effected a rougher tyre, as is the custom with young men of ample means when fishing, shooting, or the like is supposed to be the employment then in hand. The roughness had been a little overdone, but it had added nothing to his own uncouthness. In London he was apt to run a little towards ornamental gilding, but in London his tastes had been tempered by the ill-natured criticism of the world at large. He had hardly dared at Queen's Gate to wear his biggest pins, but he had taken upon himself to think that at Rome an Englishman might expose himself with all his jewellery. Oh, Tom, I never saw anything so stunning, his sister Gertrude said to him. He had simply frowned upon her and had turned himself to Ayala as though Ayala, being an artist, would be able to appreciate something beautiful in art. Ayala had looked at him and had marvelled, and adventured to hope that with his Glen Bogey dress his Glen Bogey manners and Glen Bogey propensities would be changed. At this time the family at Rome was very uncomfortable. Augusta would not speak to her cousin, and had declared to her mother and sister her determination never to speak to Ayala again. For a time Aunt Emeline had almost taken her niece's part, feeling that she might best bring things back to a condition of peace in this manner. Ayala, she had thought, might thus be decoyed into a state of submission. Ayala, so instigated, had made her attempt. What is the matter, Augusta, she had said, that you are determined to quarrel with me? Then had followed a little offer that bygone should be bygones. I have quarreled with you, said Augusta, because you do not know how to behave yourself. Then Ayala had flashed forth, and the little attempt led to a worse condition than ever, and words were spoken which even Aunt Emeline had felt to be irrevocable, irremediable. Only that you are going away I would not consent to live here, said Ayala. Then Aunt Emeline had asked her where she would go to live, should it please her to remove herself. Ayala had thought of this for a moment, and then had burst into tears. If I could not live I could die. Ayala would be better than to be treated as she treats me. So the matters were when Tom came to Rome with all his jewellery. Lady Tringle had already told herself that in choosing Ayala she had chosen wrong. Lucy, though not so attractive as Ayala, was pretty, quiet and ladylike. So she thought now, and asked to Ayala's attractions they were not at all of a nature to be serviceable to such a family as hers, to have her own girls out shone, to be made to feel that the poor often was the one person most worthy of note among them, to be subjected to the caprices of her pretty proud ill-conditioned minks. Thus it was that Aunt Emeline was taught to regard her own charity and good nature towards her niece. There was, she said, no gratitude in Ayala. Had she said that there was no humility she would have been more nearly right. She was entitled, she thought, to expect both gratitude and humility, and she was sorry that she had opened the paradise of her opulent home to one so little grateful and so little humble as Ayala. She saw now her want of judgment in that she had not taken Lucy. Tom, who was not a fool in spite of his trinkets, saw the state of the case and took Ayala's part at once. I think you're quite right, he said to her, on the first occasion on which she had contrived to find himself alone with her, after his arrival, right about what? In not giving up to Augusta. She was always like that when she was a child, and now her head is turned about traffic. I shouldn't grudge her her lover if she would only let me alone. I don't suppose she hurts you much. She sets my aunt against me, and that makes me unhappy. Of course I am wretched. Oh, Ayala, don't be wretched. How is one to help it? I never said an ill-natured word to her, and now I am so lonely among them. In saying this, in seeking to get one word of sympathy from her cousin, she forgot for a moment his disagreeable pretensions. But no sooner had she spoken of her loneliness than she saw that ogle in his eye of which she had spoken with so much ludicrous awe in her letters from Genbogi to her sister. I shall always take your part, said he. I don't want any taking of parts. But I shall. I'm not going to see you put upon. You're more to me, Ayala, than any of them. Then he looked at her, whereupon she got up and ran away. But she could not always run away, nor could she always refuse when he asked her to go with him about the showplaces of the city. To avoid starting alone with him was within her power, but she found herself compelled to join herself to Gertrude and her brother on some of those little excursions which were taken for her benefit. At this time there had come to be a direct quarrel between Lady Tringle and the Marquesa, each however had arisen altogether on the part of Augusta. Augusta had forced her mother to declare that she was insulted, and then there was no more visiting between them. This had been sad enough for Ayala, who had struck up an intimacy with the Marquesa's daughters. But the Marquesa had explained to her that there was no help for it. It won't do for you to separate yourself from your aunt, she had said. Of course we shall be friends, and at some future time you shall come and see us. Although there had been a division, and Ayala would have been quite alone had she declined the prophet companionship of Gertrude. Within the walls and arches and upraised terraces of the Colosseum they were joined one day by young Hummel the sculptor, who had not as yet gone back to London, and had not as yet met Lucy in the gardens at Kensington, and with him there had been one Frank Houston, who had made acquaintance with Lady Tringle and with the Tringles generally since there had been at Rome. Frank Houston was a young man of family with a taste for art, very good-looking, but not especially well-off in regard to income. He had heard of the good fortune of septimus traffic in having prepared for himself a connection with so wealthy a family as the Tringles, and had thought it possible that a settlement in life might be comfortable for himself. What few soft words he had hitherto been able to say to Gertrude had been taken in good part, and when therefore they met among the walls of the Colosseum she had naturally straggled away to see some special wonder which he had a special aptitude for showing. Hummel remained with Ayala and Tom talking of the old days at the Bijou until he found himself obliged to leave them. Then Tom had his opportunity. Ayala, he said, all this must be altered. What must be altered? If you only knew, Ayala, how much you are to me? I wish you wouldn't, Tom, I don't want to be anything to anybody in particular. What I mean is that I won't have them sit upon you. They treat you as—as well as though you had only half a right to be one of them. No more I have. I have no right at all. But that's not the way I want it to be, if you were my wife. Tom, pray don't. Why not? I'm in earnest. Why ain't I to speak as I think? Oh, Ayala, if you knew how much I think of you. But you shouldn't. You haven't got a right. I have got a right. But I don't want it, Tom, and I won't have it. He had carried her away now to the end of the terrace or ruined tier of seats on which they were walking, and had got her so hemmed into a corner that she could not get away from him. She was afraid of him, lest he should put out his hand to take hold of her, lest something even more might be attempted. And yet his manner was manly and sincere, and had it not been for his pins and his chains, she could not but have acknowledged his goodness to her, much as she might have disliked his person. I want to get out," she said. I won't stay here any more. Mr. Traffic, on the top of St. Peter's, had been a much pleasanter companion. Don't you believe me when I tell you that I love you better than anybody? pleaded Tom. No. Not believe me, O Ayala. I don't want to believe anything. I want to get out. If you go on, I'll tell my aunt. Tell her aunt. There was a want of personal consideration to himself in this way of receiving his addresses which almost angered him. Tom Tringle was not in the least afraid of his mother, was not even afraid of his father as long as he was fairly regular at the office in Lombard Street. He was quite determined to please himself in marriage, and was disposed to think that his father and mother would like to see him settled. Money was no object. There was, to his thinking, no good reason why he should not marry his cousin. For her, the match was so excellent that he hardly expected she would reject him when she could be made to understand that he was really an earnest. You may tell all the world, he said proudly, all I want is that you should love me. But I don't. They're a Gertrude and Mr. Huston, and I want to go to them. Say one nice word to me, Ayala. I don't know how to say a nice word. Can't you be made to understand that I don't like it? Ayala. Why don't you let me go away? Ayala, give me one kiss. Then Ayala did go away, escaping by some kid-like manoeuvre among the ruins, and running quickly while he followed her joined herself to the other pair of lovers who probably were less in want of her society than she of theirs. Ayala, I'm quite in earnest, said Tom, as they were walking home, and I mean to go on with it. Ayala thought that there was nothing for it but to tell her aunt, that there would be some absurdity in such a proceeding she did feel, that she would be acting as though her cousin were a naughty boy who was merely teasing her. But she felt also the peculiar danger of her own position. Her aunt must be made to understand that she, Ayala, was innocent in the matter. It would be terrible to her to be suspected even for a moment of a desire to inveigle the heir. That Augusta would bring such an accusation against her, she thought probable. Ayala had said as much even at Glen Bogey. She must therefore be on the alert, and let it be understood at once that she was not leagueed with her cousin Tom. There would be an absurdity, but that would be better than suspicion. She thought about it all that afternoon, and in the evening she came to a resolution. She would write a letter to her cousin, and persuade him, if possible, to desist. If he should again annoy her after that, she would appeal to her aunt. And she wrote and sent her letter, which was as follows. Dear Tom, you don't know how unhappy you made me at the Coliseum today. I don't think you ought to turn against me when you know what I have to bear. It is turning against me to talk as you did. Of course it means nothing, but you shouldn't do it. It never, never could mean anything. I hope you will be good-natured and kind to me, and then I shall be so much obliged to you. If you won't say anything more like that, I will forget it altogether. The letter ought to have convinced him. Those two underscored nevers should have eradicated from his mind the feeling which had been previously produced by the assertion that he had meant nothing, but he was so assured in his own meanings that he had paid no attention whatever to the nevers. The letter was a delight to him because it gave him the opportunity of a rejoinder, and he wrote his rejoinder on a scented sheet of note-paper and copied it twice. Miss Dialla, why do you say that it means nothing? It means everything. No man was ever more in earnest in speaking to a lady than I am with you. Why should I not be in earnest when I am so deeply in love? From the first moment in which I saw you down at Glen Bogey I knew how it was going to be with me. As for my mother, I don't think she would say a word. Why should she? But I am not the sort of man to be talked out of my intentions in such a matter as this. I have set my heart upon having you, and nothing will ever turn me off. Dearest Dialla, let me have one look to say that you will love me and I shall be the happiest man in England. I think you so beautiful. I do indeed. The Governor has always said that if I would settle down and marry there should be lots of money. What could I do better with it than make my darling look as grand as the best of them? Yours always meaning it, most affectionately, tea-tringle. It almost touched her, not in the way of love but of gratitude. He was still to her like bottom with the ass's head or the newfoundland dog gambling out of the water. There was the heavy face, and there were the big chains and the odious rings and the great hands and the clumsy feet, making together a creature whom it was impossible even to think of with love. She shuddered as she remembered the proposition which had been made to her at the Coliseum. And now by writing to him she had brought down upon herself this absolute love-letter. She had thought that by appealing to him as dear Tom and by signing herself his affectionate cousin she might have prevailed, if he could only be made to understand that it could never mean anything. But now on the other hand she had begun to understand that it did mean a great deal. He had sent to her a regular offer of marriage. The magnitude of the thing struck her at last. The heir of all the wealth of her mighty uncle wanted to make her his wife. But it was to her exactly as though the heir had come to her wearing an ass's head on his shoulders. Love him, marry him, or even touch him, oh no! They might ill-use her, they might scold her, they might turn her out of the house, but no consideration would induce her to think of Tom Dringle as a lover. And yet he was in earnest and honest and good, and some answer, some further communication must be made to him. She did recognise some nobility in him, though personally he was so distasteful to her. Now his appeal to her had taken the guise of an absolute offer of marriage he was entitled to a discreet and civil answer. Romantic, dreamy, poetic, childish as she was she knew as much as that. Go away, Tom, you fool you, would no longer do for the occasion. As she thought of it all that night it was borne in upon her more strongly than ever that her only protection would be in telling her aunt, and in getting her aunt to make Tom understand that there must be no more of it. Early on the following morning she found herself in her aunt's bedroom. CHAPTER VIII The Loud Aunt Emeline, I want you to read this letter. So it was that Ayala commenced the interview. At this moment Ayala was not on much better terms with her aunt than she was with her cousin Augusta. Ayala was the trouble to her, Lady Dringle, who was altogether perplexed with the feeling that she had burdened herself with an inmate in her house, who is distasteful to her and of whom she could not read herself. Ayala had turned out on her hands something altogether different from the girl she had intended to cherish and patronise. Ayala was independent, superior rather than inferior to her own goals, more thought of by others, apparently without any touch of that subservience which should have been produced in her by her position. Ayala seemed to demand as much as though she were a daughter of the house and at the same time to carry herself as though she were more gifted than the daughters of the house. She was less obedient even than a daughter. All this, Aunt Emeline, could not endure with a placid bosom. She was herself kind of heart. She acknowledged her duty to her dead sister. She wished to protect and foster the orphan. She did not even yet wish to punish Ayala by utter desertion. She would protect her, in opposition to Augustus more declared malignity, but she did wish to be rid of Ayala if she only knew how. She took her son's letter and read it, and as a matter of course, misunderstood the position. At Glen Bogey something had been whispered to her about Tom and Ayala, but she had not believed much in it. Ayala was a child and Tom was to her not much more than a boy. But now here was a genuine love letter, a letter in which her son had made a distinct proposition to marry the orphan. She did not stop to consider why Ayala had brought the letter to her, but entertained at once an idea that the two young people were going to vex her very soul by a lamentable love affair. How imprudent she had been to let the two young people be together in Rome, seeing that the matter had been whispered to her at Glen Bogey. How long has this been going on? She asked severely. He used to tease me at Glen Bogey, and now he's doing it again, said Ayala. There must certainly be put an end to it, you must go away. Ayala knew at once that her aunt was angry with her, and was indignant at the injustice. Of course there must be put an end to it, Aunt Emeline. He has no right to annoy me when I tell him not. I suppose you have encouraged him. This was too cruel to be borne, encouraged him. Ayala's anger was caused not so much by a feeling that her aunt had misappreciated the cause of her coming, as that it should have been thought possible that she should have encouraged such a lover. It was the outrage to her taste, rather than to her conduct which afflicted her. He's a lout, she said, a stupid lout, thus casting her scorn upon the mother as well as on the son, and indeed upon the whole family. I have not encouraged him. It's untrue. Ayala, you're very impertinent. And you are very unjust. Because I want to put a stop to it, I come to you, and you tell me that I encourage him. You're worse than Augusta. This was too much for the good nature, even of Aunt Emeline. Whatever may have been the truth as to the love affair, however innocent Ayala may have been in that matter, or however guilty Tom, such words from an niece to her aunt, from a dependent to her superior, were unpardonable. The extreme youthfulness of the girl, a peculiar look of childhood which she still had with her, made the feeling so much the stronger, you are worse than Augusta. And this was said to her, who was specially conscious of her endeavours to mitigate Augusta's just anger. She bridled up, and tried to look big, and knit her brows. At that moment she could not think what must be the end of it, but she felt that Ayala must be crushed. "'How dare you speak to me like that, miss?' she said. "'So you are. It's very cruel. Tom will go on saying all this nonsense to me, and when I come to you, you say I encourage him. I never encouraged him. I despise him too much. I did not think my own aunt could have told me that I encouraged any man. No, I didn't. You drive me to it, so that I have got to be impertinent.' "'You had better go to your room,' said the aunt. And Ayala, lifting her head as high as she knew how, walked towards the door. You had better leave that letter with me.' Ayala considered the matter for a moment, and then handed the letter a second time to her aunt. It could be nothing to her who sold the letter. She did not want it. Having thus given it up, she stalked off in silent disdain, and went to her chamber. Aunt Emeline, when she was left alone, felt herself to be enveloped in a cloud of doubt. The desirableness of Tom as her husband first forced itself upon her attention, and the undesirableness of Ayala as a wife for Tom. She was perplexed at her own folly in not having seen that danger of this kind would arise when she first proposed to take Ayala into the house. Aunts and uncles do not like the marriage of cousins, and the parents of rich children do not, as a rule, approve of marriages with those which are poor. Although Ayala had been so violent, Lady Tringle could not rid herself of the idea that her darling boy was going to throw himself away. Then her cheeks became red with anger, as she remembered that her Tom had been called a lout, a stupid lout. There was an ingratitude in the use of such language which was not alleviated even by the remembrance that it tended against that matrimonial danger of which she was so much afraid. Ayala was behaving very badly. She ought not to have coaxed Tom to be her lover, and she certainly ought not to have called Tom a lout. And then Ayala had told her aunt that she was unjust and worse than Augusta. It was out of the question that such a state of thing should be endured. Ayala must be made to go away. Before the day was over Lady Tringle spoke to her son, and was astonished to find that the lout was quite in earnest, so much in earnest that he declared his purpose of marrying his cousin in opposition to his father and mother, in opposition even to Ayala herself. He was so much in earnest that he would not be roused to wrath even when he was told that Ayala had called him a lout. And then grew upon the mother a feeling that the young man had never been so little loutish before, for there had been, even to her maternal bosom, a feeling that Tom was open to the criticism expressed on him. Tom had been a hobbled ahoy, one of those overgrown lads who come late to their manhood and who were regarded by young ladies as louts. Though he had spent his money only too freely when away, his sisters had sometimes said that he could not say boo to a goose at home. But now, now Tom was quite an altered young man. When his own letter was shown to him, he simply said that he meant to stick to it. When it was represented to him that his cousin would be quite an unfit wife for him, he assured his mother that his own opinion on that matter was very different. When his father's anger was threatened, he declared that his father would have no right to be angry with him if he married a lady. At the word lout he simply smiled. She'll come to think different from that before she's done with me, he said with a smile. Even the mother could not but perceive that the young man had been very much improved by his love. But what was she to do? Two or three days went on during which there was no reconciliation between her and Ayala. Between Augusta and Ayala no word was spoken. The messages were taken to her by Gertrude, the object of which was to induce her to ask her aunt's pardon. But Ayala was of the opinion that her aunt ought to ask her pardon, and could not be beaten from it. Why did she say that I encouraged him, she demanded indignantly of Gertrude? I don't think she did encourage him, said Gertrude to her mother. This might possibly be true, but not the less had she misbehaved. And though she might not yet have encouraged her lover, it was only too probable that she might do so when she found that her lover was quite in earnest. Lady Tringle was much harassed, and then there came an additional trouble. Gertrude informed her mother that she had engaged herself to Mr. Francis Houston, and that Mr. Houston was going to write to her father with the object of proposing himself as a son-in-law. Mr. Houston came also to herself and told her in the most natural turn in the world that he intended to marry her daughter. She had not known what to say. It was Sir Thomas who managed all matters of money. She had an idea that Mr. Houston was very poor, but then so also had been Mr. Traffic, who had been received into the family with open arms. But then Mr. Traffic had a career whereas Mr. Houston was lamentably idle. She could only refer Mr. Houston to Sir Thomas, and beg him not to come among them any more till Sir Thomas had decided. On this Gertrude also got angry and shut herself up in her room. The apartments through Pertie were, therefore, upon the whole an uncomfortable home to them. Letters upon letters were written to Sir Thomas, and letters upon letters came. The first letter had been about Ayala. He had been much more tender towards Ayala than her aunt had been. He talked of car-flove and said that Tom was a fool, but he had not at once thought it necessary to give imperative orders for Tom's return. As to Ayala's impudence, he evidently regarded it as nothing. It was not till Aunt Emmeline had spoken out in her third letter that he seemed to recognize the possibility of getting rid of Ayala altogether. And this he did in answer to a suggestion which had been made to him. If she likes to change with her sister Lucy and you like it, I shall not object, said Sir Thomas. Then there came an order to Tom that he should return to Lombard Street at once, but this order had been rendered abortive by the sudden return of the whole family. Sir Thomas, in his first letter as to Gertrude, had declared that the Houston marriage would not do at all. Then when he was told that Gertrude and Mr. Houston had certainly met each other more than once, since an order had been given for their separation, he desired the whole family to come back at once to Merle Park. The proposition as to Lucy had arisen in this wise. Tom being in the same house with Ayala, of course, had her very much at advantage, and would carry on his suit in spite of any abuse which he might lavish upon him. It was quite in vain that she called him lout. You'll think very different from that some of these days, Ayala, he said more seriously. No, I shan't, I shall think always the same. When you know how much I love you you'll change. I don't want you to love me, she said, and if you were anything that is good you wouldn't go on after I have told you so often. It's not manly of you. You have brought me to all manner of trouble. It's your fault, but they make me suffer." After that Ayala went again to Harnes, and on this occasion the family misfortune was discussed in more seemly language. Ayala was still indignant, but she said nothing insolent. Aunt Emeline was still averse to her niece, but she abstained from accrimination. They knew each other as enemies, but recognized the wisdom of keeping the peace. As for that, Aunt Emeline, Ayala said, you may be quite sure that I shall never encourage him. I shall never like him well enough. Very well, then we need say no more about that, my dear. Of course it must be unpleasant to us all being in the same house together. It's very unpleasant to me when he will go on bothering me like that. It makes me wish that I were anywhere else. Then Aunt Emeline began to think about it very seriously. It was very unpleasant. Ayala had made herself disagreeable to all the ladies of the family, and only too agreeable to the young gentleman. Nor did the manifest favour of Sir Thomas do much towards raising Ayala in Lady Tringle's estimation. Sir Thomas had only laughed when Augusta had been requested to go upstairs for the scrapbook. Sir Thomas had been profused with his presence even when Ayala had been most persistent in her misbehaviour. And then all that affair of the Marquesa, and even Mr. Traffic's infatuation. If Ayala wished that she were somewhere else, would it not be well to indulge her wish? Aunt Emeline certainly wished it. If you think so, perhaps some arrangement can be made, said Aunt Emeline, very slowly. What arrangement? You must not suppose that I wish to turn you out. But what arrangement? You see, Ayala, that unfortunately we have not all of us hit it on nicely, have we? Not at all, Aunt Emeline. Augusta is always angry with me, and you think I have encouraged Tom. I am saying nothing about that, Ayala. But what arrangement is it, Aunt Emeline? The matter was one of fearful import to Ayala. She was prudent enough to understand that well. The arrangement must be one by which she would be banished from all the wealth of the Tringles. Her coming among them had not been a success. She had already made them tired of her by her petulance and independence. Younger she was, she could see that, and comprehend the material injury she had done to herself by her folly. She had been very wrong in telling Augusta to go upstairs. She had been wrong in the triumph of her exclusive visit to the Marquesa. She had been wrong in walking away with Mr. Traffic on the Pincean. She could see that. She had not been wrong in regard to Tom, except in calling him aloud, but whether wrong or right she had been most unfortunate. But the thing had been done, and she must go. At this moment the wealth of the Tringles seemed to be more to her than it had ever been before, and her own poverty and destitution seemed to be more absolute. When the word arrangement was whispered to her, there came upon her a clear idea of all which she was to lose. She was to be banished from Merle Park, from Queensgate, and from Glen Bogey. For her there were to be no more carriages and horses and pretty trinkets, none of that abandon of the luxury of money among which the Tringles lived. But she had done it for herself, and she would not say a word in opposition to the fate which was before her. What arrangement aren't? She said again, in a voice which was intended to welcome any arrangement that might be made. Then her aunt spoke very softly. Of course, dear Ayala, we do not wish to do less than we had first intended. But as you're not happy here." Then she paused almost ashamed of herself. I am not happy here, said Ayala boldly. How would it be if you were to change with Lucy? The idea which had been present to Lady Tringle for some weeks past had never struck Ayala. The moment she heard it she felt that she was more than ever bound to ascent. If the home from which she was to be banished was good, then would that good fall upon Lucy? Lucy would have the carriages and the horses and the trinkets, Lucy who certainly was not happy at Kingsbury Crescent. I should be very glad indeed, said Ayala. Her voice was so brave and decided that in itself it gave fresh offence to her aunt. Was there to be no regret after so much generosity? But she misunderstood the girl altogether. As the words were coming from her lips I should be very glad indeed. Ayala's heart was sinking with tenderness as she remembered how much after all had been done for her. But as they wished her to go there would be not a word, not a sign of unwillingness on her part. Then perhaps it can be arranged, said Lady Tringle. I don't know what Uncle Dossett may say, perhaps they're very fond of Lucy now. They wouldn't wish to stand in her way, I should think. At any rate I won't, if you and my uncles and Aunt Margaret will consent, I will go whenever you choose. Of course I must do just as I'm told. Aunt Emilyne made a faint demurr to this, but still the matter was held to be arranged. Letters were written to Sir Thomas and letters came and at last even Sir Thomas had assented. He suggested in the first place that all the facts which would follow the exchange should be explained to Ayala. But he was obliged after a while to acknowledge that this would be inexpedient. The goal was willing and knew no doubt that she was to give up the great wealth of her present home. But she had proved herself to be an unfit participator, and it was better that she should go. Then the departure of them all from Rome was hurried on by the indiscretion of Gertrude. Gertrude declared that she had a right to her lover. As to his having no income, what matter for that? Everyone knew that Septimus Trafic had no income. God had enough income for them all. Mr. Houston was a gentleman. Till this moment no one had known of how strong a will of her own Gertrude was possessed. When Gertrude declared that she would not consent to be separated from Mr. Houston, then they were all hurried home. End of Chapter 8. Chapter 9 of Ayala's Angel. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Ayala's Angel by Anthony Trollop. Chapter 9. The Exchange. Such was the state of things when Mr. Doss had brought the three letters home with him to Kingsbury Crescent, having been so much disturbed by the contents of the two which were addressed to himself as to have found himself compelled to leave his office two hours before the proper time. The three letters were handed together by her uncle to Lucy, and she, seeing the importance of the occasion, read the two open ones before she broke the envelope of her own. That from Sir Thomas came first, and was as follows. Jumbart Street, January 1870-something. My dear Dosset, I have had a correspondence with the ladies at Rome which has been painful in its nature, but which I had better perhaps communicate to you at once. Ayala has not got on as well with Lady Tringle and the girls as might have been wished, and they all think it will be better that she and Lucy should change places. I chiefly write to give my assent. Your sister will no doubt write to you. I may as well mention to you, should you consent to take charge of Ayala, that I have made some provision for her in my will, and that I shall not change it. I have to add on my own account that I have no complaint of my own to make against Ayala. Your sincerely, T. Tringle. Lucy, when she had read this, proceeded at once to the letter from her aunt. The matter to her was one of terrible importance, but the importance was quite as great to Ayala. She had been allowed to go up alone into her own room. The letters were of such a nature that she could hardly have read them calmly in the presence of her aunt Dosset. It was thus that her aunt Emeline had written. Palazzo Rapperti, Rome, Thursday. My dear Reginald, I am sure you'll be sorry to hear that we're in great trouble here. This has become so bad that we're obliged to apply to you to help us. Now, you must understand that I do not mean to say a word against dear Ayala. Only she does not suit. It will occur sometimes that people who are most attached to each other do not suit. So it has been with dear Ayala. She is not happy with us. She has not perhaps accommodated herself to her cousins quite as carefully as she might have done. She is fully as sensible of this as I am, and is herself persuaded that there had better be a change. Now, my dear Reginald, I am quite aware that when poor Egbert died it was I who chose Ayala, and that you took Lucy partly in compliance with my wishes. Now I write to suggest that there should be a change. I am sure you'll give me credit for a desire to do the best I can for both the poor, dear girls. I did think that this might best be done by letting Ayala come to us. I now think that Lucy would do better with her cousins, and that Ayala would be more attractive without the young people around her. When I see you, I will tell you everything. There has been no great fault. She has spoken a word or two to me which had been better unsaid, but I am well convinced that it has come from hot temper and not from a bad heart. Perhaps I had better tell you the truth, Tom has admired her. She has behaved very well, but she could not bear to be spoken to, and so there have been unpleasantnesses. And the girls certainly have not got on well together. Sir Thomas quite agrees with me that if you all consent there had better be a change. I will not write to dear Lucy herself because you and Margaret can explain it all so much better, if you will consent to our plan. Ayala also will write to her sister, but pray tell her from me that I will love her very dearly if she will come to me. And indeed I have loved Ayala almost as though she were my own, only we have not been quite able to hit it off together. Of course neither has Sir Thomas nor have I any idea of escaping from a responsibility. I should be quite unhappy if I did not have one of poor dear Egbert's girls with me. Only I do think that Lucy would be the best for us, and Ayala thinks so too. I should be quite unhappy if I were doing this in opposition to Ayala. We shall be in England almost as soon as this letter, and I should be so glad if this could be decided on at once. If a thing like this is to be done, it is so much better for all parties that it should be done quickly. Pray give my best love to Margaret, and tell her that Ayala shall bring everything with her that she wants. The most affectionate sister, Emilyin Tringle. This letter, though it was much longer than her uncle's going into details, such as that of Tom's unfortunate passion for his cousin, had less effect upon Lucy, as it did not speak with so much authority as that from Sir Thomas. What Sir Thomas said would surely be done, whereas Aunt Emilyin was only a woman, and her letter unsupported might not have carried conviction. But if Sir Thomas wished it surely it must be done. Then at last came Ayala's letter. Rome, Thursday, dearest, dearest Lucy, oh, I have such things to write to you. Aunt Emilyin has told it all to Uncle Reginald. You are to come and be the princess, and I am to go and be the milkmaid at home. I am quite content that it should be so, because I know that it will be the best. You ought to be a princess, and I ought to be a milkmaid. It has been coming almost ever since the first day that I came among them, since I told Augusta to go upstairs for the scrapbook. I felt from the very moment in which the words were uttered that I had gone and done for myself. But I am not a bit sorry, as you will come in my place. Augusta will very soon be gone now, and Aunt Emilyin is not bad at all if you will only not contradict her. I always contradicted her, and I know that I have been a fool, but I am not a bit sorry, as you were to come instead of me. But it is not only about Augusta and Aunt Emilyin. There has been that oaf, Tom. Poor Tom! I do believe that he is the most good-natured fellow alive. And if he had not so many chains, I should not dislike him so very much. But he will go on saying horrible things to me. And then he wrote me a letter. Oh, dear! I took the letter to Aunt Emilyin, and that made the quarrel. She said that I had encouraged him. Oh, Lucy! If you will think of that, I was so angry that I said ever so much to her, till she sent me out of the room. She had no business to say that I encouraged him, it was shameful. But she's never forgiven me, because I scolded her. So they have decided among them that I am to be sent away, and that you are to come in my place. My own darling, Lucy, it will be ever so much better. I know that you're not happy in Kingsbury Crescent, and that I shall bear it very much better. I can sit still and mend sheets. Poor Ayala, how little she knew herself. And you will make a beautiful grandlady quiescent and dignified as a grandlady ought to be. At any rate it would be impossible that I should remain here. Tom is bad enough, but to be told that I encourage him is more than I can bear. I shall see you very soon, but I cannot help writing and telling it to you all. Give my love to Aunt Dosset. If she will consent to receive me, I will endeavour to be good to her. In the meantime, good-bye, your most affectionate sister Ayala. When Lucy had completed the reading of the letter, she sat for a considerable time wrapped in thought. There was, in truth, very much the required thinking. It was proposed that the whole tenor of her life should be changed and changed in a direction which would certainly suit her taste. She had acknowledged to herself that she had hated the comparative poverty of her Uncle Dosset's life, hating herself in that she was compelled to make such acknowledgment. But there had been more than the poverty which had been distasteful to her, or something which she had been able to tell herself that she might be justified in hating without shame. There had been to her an absence of intellectual charm in the habits and manners of Kingsbury Crescent which she had regarded as unfortunate and depressing. There had been no thought of art delights, no one read poetry, no one heard music, no one looked at pictures. A sheet to be darned was the one thing of greatest importance. The due development of a leg of mutton, the stretching of a pound of butter, the best way of repressing the washer-woman's bills, these had been the matters of interest. And there had not been made the less irritating to her by her aunt's extreme goodness in the matter. The leg of mutton was to be developed in the absence of her Uncle, if possible, without his knowledge. He was to have his run of clean linen. She did not grudge him anything but was sickened by that partnership in economy which was established between her and her aunt. Undoubtedly from time to time she had thought of the luxuries which had been thrown in Ayala's way. There had been a regret, not that Ayala should have them, but that she should have missed them. Money she declared that she despised, but the easy luxury of the bijou was sweet to her memory. Now it was suggested to her suddenly that she was to exchange the poverty for the luxury and to return to a mode of life in which her mind might be devoted to things of beauty. The very scenery of Glen Bogey what a charm it would have for her. Judging from her Uncle's manner as well as she could during that moment in which she handed to her the letter, she imagined that he intended to make no great objection. Her aunt disliked her. She was sure that her aunt disliked her in spite of the partnership. Only that there was one other view of the case, how happy might the transfer be? Her uncle was always gentle to her, but there could hardly as yet have grown up any strong affection for her. To him she was grateful, but she could not tell herself that to part from him would be a pang. There was, however, another view of the case. Ayala, how would it be with Ayala? Would Ayala like the partnership and the economies? Would Ayala be cheerful as she sat opposite her aunt for four hours at a time? Ayala had said that she could sit still in men's sheets, but was it not manifest enough that Ayala knew nothing of the life of which she was speaking? And would she, Lucy, be able to enjoy the glories of Glen Bogey when she thought that Ayala was eating out her heart in the sad companionship of Kingsbury Crescent? For above an hour she sat and thought, but of one aspect which the affair bore she did not think. She did not reflect that she and Ayala were in the hands of fate, and that they must both do as their elders should require of them. At last they came a knock at the door, and her aunt entered. She would sooner that it should have been her uncle, but there was no choice but that the matter should now be discussed with the woman whom she did not love. This matter that was so dreadful to herself in all its bearings, and so dreadful to one for whom she would willingly sacrifice herself if it were possible. She did not know what she could say to create sympathy with Aunt Dosset. Lucy, said Aunt Dosset, this is a very serious proposal. Very serious, said Lucy sternly. I have not read the letters, but your uncle has told me about it. Then Lucy handed her the two letters, keeping that from Ayala to herself, and she sat perfectly still while her aunt read them both slowly. Your Aunt Emilyne is certainly an earnest, said Mrs. Dosset. Aunt Emilyne is very good-natured, and perhaps she will change her mind if we tell her that we wish it. But Sir Thomas has agreed to it. I'm sure my uncle will give way if Aunt Emilyne will ask him. He says he has no complaint to make against Ayala. I think it's Augusta, and Augusta will be married and go away very soon. Then there came a change, a visible change over the countenance of Aunt Dosset, and a softening of the voice, so that she looked and spoke as Lucy had not seen or heard her before. There are people apparently so hard, so ungenial, so unsympathetic, that they who only half know them expect no trait of tenderness, think that features so little alluring cannot be compatible with softness. Lucy had acknowledged our Aunt Dosset to be good, but believed her to be incapable of being touched. But a word or two had now conquered her. The girl did not want to leave her, did not seize the first opportunity of running from her poverty to the splendour of the tringles. But Lucy, she said, and came and placed herself nearer to Lucy on the bed. Ayala, said Lucy sobbing, I will be kind to her, perhaps kinder than I have been to you. You have been kind, and I have been most ungrateful, I know it, but I will do better now, Aunt Dosset, I will stay if you will have me. They are rich and powerful, and you will have to do as they direct. No, who are they that I should be made to come and go at their bidding, they cannot make me leave you. But they can rid themselves of Ayala, you see what your uncle says about money for Ayala. I hate money. Money is a thing which none of us can afford to hate. Do you think it will not be much to your uncle Reginald to know that you are both provided for? Already is wretched, because there will be nothing to come to you. If you go to your Aunt Emilyne, Sir Thomas will do for you as he has done for Ayala. Dear Lucy, it is not that I want to send you away. Then for the first time Lucy put her arm around her aunt's neck. But it had better be as is proposed, if your aunt still wishes it when she comes home. Ayala and your uncle Reginald would not do right were we to allow you to throw away the prospects that are offered you. It is natural that Lady Tringle should be anxious about her son. She need not, in the least, said Lucy indignantly. But you see what they say. It's his fault, not hers, why should she be punished? Because he is Fortune's favourite, and she is not. It's no good kicking against the pricks, my dear. He is his father's son-in-air, and everything must give way to him. But Ayala does not want him. Ayala despises him. It's too hard that she is to lose everything, because a young man like that will go on making himself disagreeable. They have no right to do it after having a customed Ayala to such a home. Don't you feel that, Aunt Doset? I do feel it. However it might have been arranged at first, it ought to remain now. And though Ayala and I are only girls, we ought not to be changed about as though we were horses. If she'd done anything wrong, but Uncle Tom says she's done nothing wrong. I suppose she has spoken to her aunt disrespectfully. Because her aunt told her that she'd encouraged this man, what would you have a girl say when she's falsely accused like that? Would you say it to me merely because some horrid man would come and speak to me? Then there came a slight pang of conscience as she remembered Isidore Hummel and Kensington Gardens. If the man were not thought to be horrid, then perhaps the speaking might be a sin worthy of most severe accusation. There was nothing more said about it that night, nor till the following afternoon when Mr. Doset returned home at the usual hour from his office. Then Lucy was closeted with him for a quarter of an hour in the drawing-room. He had been into the city and seen Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas had been of the opinion that it would be much better that Lady Tringle's wishes should be obeyed. It was quite true that he himself had no complaint to make against Ayala, but he did think that Ayala had been pert, and though it might be true that Ayala had not encouraged Tom, there was no knowing what might grow out of such a propensity on Tom's part. And then it could not be pleasant to Lady Tringle ought to himself that their son should be banished out of the house. When something was hinted as to the injustice of this, Sir Thomas endeavoured to put all that right by declaring that if Lady Tringle's wishes could be attended to in this manner, provision would be made for the two girls. He certainly would not strike Ayala's name out of his will, and he certainly would not take Lucy under his wing as his own child, without making some provision for her. Looking at the matter in this light, he did not think that Mr. Doset would be justified in robbing Lucy of the advantages which were offered to her. With this view Mr. Doset found himself compelled to agree, and with these arguments he declared to Lucy that it was her duty to submit herself to the proposed exchange. Early in February all the Tringle family were in Queensgate, and Lucy, on her first visit to the house, found that everyone, including Ayala, looked upon the thing as settled. Ayala, who under these circumstances was living on affectionate terms with all the Tringles except Tom, was quite radiant. I suppose I'd better go to Morro-Aunt, she said, as though it were a matter of most trivial consequence. In a day or two Ayala it will be better. It shall be Monday then. You must come over here in a cab, Lucy. The carriage shall be sent, my dear. But then it must go back with me, Aunt Emilyne. It shall, my dear. And the horses must be put up, because Lucy and I must change all our things in the drawers. Lucy at the time was sitting in the drawing-room, and Augusta, with most affectionate confidence, was singing to her all the praises of Mr. Traffic. In this way it was settled, and the change so greatly affecting the fortunes of our two sisters, was arranged. N. CHAPTER IX Till the last moment forgoing Ayala seemed to be childish, triumphant and indifferent. But till that last moment she was never alone with Lucy. It was the presence of her aunt and cousins which sustained her in her hardy-hood. Tom was never there, or so rarely as not to affect her greatly. In London he had his own lodgings, and was not encouraged to appear frequently until Ayala should have gone. But Aunt Emilyne and Gertrude were perseveringly gracious, and even Augusta had somewhat relaxed from her wrath. With them Ayala was always good-humoured, but always brave. She affected to rejoice at the change which was to be made. She spoke of Lucy's coming and of her own going as an unmixed blessing. She did so effectually as to make Aunt Emilyne declare to Sir Thomas with tears in her eyes that the girl was heartless. But when at the moment of parting the two girls were together, then Ayala broke down. They were in the room together which one had occupied and the other was to occupy, and their boxes were still upon the floor. Though less than six months had passed since Ayala had come among the rich things and Lucy had been among the poor, Ayala's belongings had become much more important than her sisters. Although the tringles had been unpleasant they had been generous. Lucy was sitting upon the bed while Ayala was now moving about the room restlessly, now clinging to her sister, and now sobbing almost in despair. Of course I know, she said, what's the use of telling stories about it any longer? It's not too late yet, Ayala, if we both go to Uncle Tom he will let us change it. Why should it be changed? If I could change it by lifting up my little finger I could not do it. Why should it not be you as well as me? They have tried me, and as Aunt Emilyne says, I have not suited. Aunt Dosset is not ill-natured, my darling. No I dare say not. It is that I am bad. It is bad to like pretty things and money and to hate poor things. Or rather I do not believe it is bad at all because it's so natural. I believe it's all a lie as to being wicked to love riches. I love them whether it's wicked or not. Oh, Ayala! Do not you? Don't let's be hypocritical, Lucy, now at the last moment. Did you like the way in which they lived in Kingsbrook Crescent?" Lucy paused before she answered. I like it better than I did, she said. At any rate I would willingly go back to Kingsbrook Crescent. Yes, for my sake. Indeed I would, my pet. And for your sake I would rather die than stay. But what is the good of talking about it, Lucy? You and I have no voice in it, although it is all about ourselves. As you say, we're like two tame birds who have to be moved from one cage into another, just as the owner pleases. We belong either to Uncle Tom or Uncle Dossett, just as they like to settle it. Oh, Lucy, I do so wish that I were dead. Ayala! That's wicked. How can I help it if I'm wicked? What am I to do when I get there? What am I to say to them? How am I to live? Lucy, we shall never see each other. I will come across to you constantly. I meant to do so, but I didn't. There are two worlds, miles asunder. Lucy, will they let Isidore Hamill come here? Lucy blushed and hesitated. I'm sure he'll come. Lucy remembered that she had given her friend her address at Queensgate, and felt that she would seem to have done it as though she had known that she was about to be transferred to the other uncle's house. It will make no difference if he does, she said. Oh, I have such a dream, such a castle in the air. If I could think it might ever be so, then I should not want to die. What do you dream? But Lucy, though she asked the question, knew the dream. If you had a little house of your own, oh, ever so tiny, and if you and he—there is no he—there might be, and if you and he would let me have any corner for myself, then I should be happy, then I would not want to die. You would, wouldn't you? How can I talk about it, Ayala, there isn't such a thing. But yet—but yet—oh, Ayala, do you not know that to have you with me would be better than anything? No, not better than anything, second best. He would be best. I do so hope that he may be he. Come in." There was a knock at the door, and Aunt Emeline herself entered the room. No, my dears, the horses are standing there, and the men are coming up for the luggage. Ayala, I hope we shall see very often, and remember that as regards anything that is unpleasant, bygone shall be bygone's. Then there was a crowd of farewell-kisses, and in a few minutes Ayala was alone in the carriage on her way up to King's Brickrescent. The thing had been done so quickly that hitherto there had hardly been time for tears. To Ayala herself the most remarkable matter in the whole affair had been Tom's persistence. He had at last been allowed to bring them home from Rome, there having been no other gentleman whose services were available for the occasion. He had been watched on the journey very closely, and had had no slant in his favour as the young lady to whom he was devoted was quite as anxious to keep out of his way as had been the others of the party to separate them. But he had made occasion more than once sufficient to express his intention. I don't mean to give you up, you know, he had said to her, when I say a thing I mean it, I'm not going to be put off by my mother, and as for the governor he wouldn't say a word against it if he thought we were both in earnest. But I ain't in earnest, said Ayala, or rather I'm very much in earnest. So am I. That's all I've got to say just at present. From this there grew up within her mind a certain respect for the lout, which however made him more disagreeable to her than he might have been had he been less persistent. It was late in the afternoon, not much before dinner, when Ayala reached the house in Kingsbury Crescent. Here the two she had known almost nothing of her aunt Dosset, and had never been intimate even with her uncle. They of course had heard much of her, and had been led to suppose that she was much less tractable than the simple Lucy. This feeling had been so strong that Mr. Dosset himself would hardly have been led to sanction the change. Had it not been for that promise from Sir Thomas that he would not withdraw the provision he had made for Ayala, and would do as much for Lucy if Lucy should become an inmate of his family. Mrs. Dosset had certainly been glad to welcome any change when a change was proposed to her. There had grown up something of affection at the last moment, but up to that time she had certainly disliked her niece. Lucy had appeared to her to be at first idle, and then sullen. The girl had seemed to affect a higher nature than her own, and had been wilfully indifferent to the little things which had given to her life whatever interest it possessed. Lucy's silence had been a reproach to her, though she herself had been able to do so little to abolish the silence. Perhaps Ayala might be better. But they were both afraid of Ayala, as they had not been afraid of Lucy before her arrival. They made more of preparation for her in their own minds, and as to their own conduct Mr. Dosset was there himself to receive her, and was conscious in doing so that there had been something of failure in their intercourse with Lucy. Lucy had been allowed to come in without preparation, with an expectation that she would fall easily into her place, and there had been failure. There had been no regular consultation as to this new coming, but both Mr. and Mrs. Dosset were conscious of an intended effort. Lady Tringle and Mr. Dosset had always been Aunt Emily and Uncle Reginald by reason of the nearness of their relationship. Circumstances of closer intercourse had caused Sir Thomas to be Uncle Tom, but Mrs. Dosset had never become more than Aunt Dosset to either of the girls. This in itself had been a matter almost of sawness to her, and she had intended to ask Lucy to adopt the more endearing form of her Christian name, but there had been so little endearment between them that the moment for doing so had never come. She was thinking of all this up in her own room, preparatory to the reception of the other girl, while Mr. Dosset was bidding her welcome to Kingsbury Crescent in the drawing-room below. Ayala had been dissolved in tears during the drive round by Kensington to Bayswater, and was hardly able to repress her sobs as she entered the house. "'My dear,' said the Uncle, "'we will do all that we can to make you happy here.' "'I'm sure you will, but it is so sad coming away from Lucy.' "'Lucy, I'm sure, will be happy with her cousins. If Lucy's happiness were made to depend on her cousin's thought, Ayala, it would not be well assured. And my sister, Emilyne, is always good-natured. Aunt Emilyne is very good, only—only what?' "'I don't know, but it's such a sudden change, Uncle Reginald.' "'Yes, it is a very great change, my dear. They are very rich, and we are poor enough. I should hardly have consented to this for your sake, but that there are reasons which will make it better for you both.' "'Just to that,' said Ayala, startly, I had to come away, I didn't suit. You shall suit us, my dear. I hope so. I will try. I know more now than I did then. I thought I was to be august as equal. We shall all be equal here. People ought to be equal, I think, except old people and young people. I will do whatever you and my aunt tell me. There are no young people here, so there won't be any trouble of that kind. There will be no other young person, certainly. You shall go upstairs now and see your aunt.' Then there was the interview upstairs which consisted chiefly in promises and kisses, and Ayala was left alone to unpack her boxes and prepare for dinner. Before she began her operation she sat still for a few moments, and with an effort collected her energies and made her resolution. She had said to Lucy and her passion that she would that she were dead, that that should have been wicked was not matter of much concern to her, but she acknowledged to herself that it had been weak and foolish. There was her life before her, and she would still endeavour to be happy, though there had been so much to distress her. She had flung away wealth, she was determined to fling it away still when it should present itself to her in the shape of her cousin Tom. But she had her dreams, her daydreams, those castles in the air which it had hindered the delight of her life to construct, and in the building of which her hours had never run heavy with her. Isidore Hummel would of course come again, and would of course marry Lucy, and then there would be a home for her after her own heart. With Isidore as her brother and her own Lucy close to her she would not feel the want of riches and of luxury. If there were only some intellectual charm in her life, some touch of art, some devotion to things beautiful, then she could do without gold and silver and costly raiment. Of course Isidore would come. And then, then, in the far distance something else would come, something of which in her castle building she had not yet developed the form of which she did not yet know the bearing or the manner of its beauty or the music of its voice, but as to which she was very sure that its form would be beautiful and its voice full of music. It can hardly be said that this something was the center of her dreams or the foundation of her castles. It was the extreme point of perfection at which she would arrive at last when her thoughts had become sublimated by the intensity of her thinking. It was the tower of the castle, from which she could look down upon the inferior world below, the last point of the dream in arranging which she would all but escape from earth to heaven, when in the moment of her escape the cruel waking back into the world would come upon her. But this she knew, that this something, whatever might be its form or whatever its voice, would be exactly the opposite of Tom Tringle. She had fallen away from her resolution to her dreams for a time, when suddenly she jumped up and began her work with immense energy, open when one box after another, and in five minutes the room was strewed with her possessions. The modest set of drawers which was to supply all her wants was filled with immediate haste. Things were deposited in whatever nooks might be found, and every corner was utilized. Her character for tidiness had never stood high. At the bijoux Lucy or her mother, or the favorite maid, had always been at hand to make good her deficiencies, with a reproach which had never gone beyond a smile or a kiss, at Glen Bogey, and even on the journey there had been attendant ladies' maids, but here she was all alone. Everything was still in confusion when she was called to dinner. As she went down she recalled to herself her second resolution. She would be good. Whereby she intimated to herself that she would endeavour to do what might be pleasing to her aunt Dossett. She had little doubt as to her uncle, but she was aware that there had been differences between her aunt and Lucy. If Lucy had found it difficult to be good, how great would be the struggle required from her. She sat herself down at table a little nearer to her aunt than her uncle, because it was especially her aunt whom she wished to win, and after a few minutes she put out a little soft hand and touched that of Mrs. Dossett. My dear, said that lady, I hope you will be happy. I am determined to be happy, said Ayala, if you will let me love you." Mrs. Dossett was not beautiful nor was she romantic. In appearance she was the very reverse of Ayala. The cares of the world, the looking after shillings and their results, had given her that look of commonplace insignificance which is so frequent and so unattractive among middle-aged women upon whom the world gleams heavily. But there was a tender corner in her heart which was still green, and from which a little rill of sweet water could be made to flow when it was touched to right. On this occasion a tear came to her eye as she pressed her niece's hand, but she said nothing. She was sure, however, that she would love Ayala much better than she had been able to love Lucy. What would you like me to do? asked Ayala when her aunt accompanied her that night to her bedroom. To do, my dear, what do you generally do? Nothing. I read a little and draw a little, but I do nothing useful. I mean it to be different now. You shall do as you please, Ayala. Oh! But I mean it, and you must tell me. Of course things have to be different. We are not rich like your uncle and aunt Tringle. Perhaps it is better not to be rich so that one may have something to do. But I want you to tell me as though you really cared for me. I will care for you, said aunt Dosset sobbing. Then first begin by telling me what to do. I will try and do it. Of course I have thought about it, coming away from all manner of rich things, and I have determined that it shall not make me unhappy. I will rise above it. I will begin to morrow and do anything if you will tell me." Then aunt Dosset took her in her arms and kissed her, and declared that on the morrow they would begin their work together in perfect confidence and love with each other. I think she'll do better than Lucy, said Mrs. Dosset to her husband that night. Lucy was a dear girl, too, said Uncle Reginald. Oh! Yes, quite so. I don't mean to say a word against Lucy. But I think that I can do better with Ayala. She will be more diligent. Uncle Reginald said nothing to this, but he could not but think that of the two Lucy would be the one most likely to devote herself to hard work. On the next morning Ayala went out with her aunt on the round to the shopkeepers and listened with profound attention to the domestic instructions which were given to her on the occasion. When she came home she knew much of which she had known nothing before. What was the price of mutton, and how much mutton she was expected as one of the family to eat per week? What were the necessities of the house in bread and butter? How far a pint of milk might be stretched, with a proper understanding that her Uncle Reginald, as head of the family, was to be subjected to no limits? And before they returned from that walk, on the first morning of Ayala's sojourn, Ayala had undertaken always to call Mrs. Dosset Aunt Margaret for the future. CHAPTER XI During the next three months, up to the end of the winter and through the early spring, things went on without any change, either in Queensgate or Kingsbury Crescent. The sisters saw each other occasionally, but not as frequently as either of them had intended. Lucy was not encouraged in the use of cabs, nor was the carriage lent to her often for the purpose of going to the Crescent. The reader may remember that she had been in the habit of walking alone in Kensington Gardens, and a walk across Kensington Gardens would carry her the greater part of the distance to Kingsbury Crescent. But Lucy, in her new circumstances, was not advised, perhaps I may say not allowed, to walk alone. Lady Tringle, being a lady of rank and wealth, was afraid or pretended to be afraid of the lions. Our Ayala was really afraid of the lions. Thus it came to pass that the intercourse was not frequent. In her daily life Lucy was quiet and obedient. She did not run counter to Augusta, whose approaching nuptials gave her that predominance in the house, which is always accorded to young ladies in her recognized position. Gertrude was at this time a subject of trouble at Queensgate. Sir Thomas had not been got to approve of Mr. Frank Houston, and Gertrude had positively refused to give him up. Sir Thomas was indeed considerably troubled by his children. There had been a period of disagreeable obstinacy even with Augusta, before Mr. Traffic had been taken into the bosom of the family. Now Gertrude had her own ideas, and so also had Tom. Tom had become quite a trouble. Sir Thomas and Lady Tringle together had determined that Tom must be weaned, by which they meant that he must be cured of his love. Yet Tom had altogether refused to be weaned. Mr. Dosset had been requested to deny him admittance to the house in Kingsbury Crescent, and as this request had been fully endorsed by Ayala herself, Audus had been given to the effect to the Parliament. Tom had called more than once, and had been unable to obtain access to his beloved. But yet he had resolutely refused to be weaned. He told his father to his face that he intended to marry Ayala, and abused his mother roundly when she attempted to interfere. The whole family was astounded by his perseverance, so that there had already sprung up an idea in the minds among some of the Tringles that he would be successful at last. Augusta was very firm, declaring that Ayala was a viper. But Sir Thomas himself began to enquire within his own bosom where the Tom should not be allowed to settle down in the manner desired by himself. In no consultation held at Queensgate on the subject was that the slightest expression of an opinion that Tom might be denied the opportunity of settling down as he wished through any unwillingness on the part of Ayala. When things were in this position, Tom sought an interview one morning with his father in Lombard Street. They rarely saw each other at the office, each having his own peculiar branch of business. Sir Thomas manipulated his millions in a little back room of his own, while Tom, dealing probably with limited thousands, made himself useful in an outer room. They never went to or left the office together, but Sir Thomas always took care to know that his son was or was not on the premises. I want to say a word or two, sir, about—about the little affair of mine, said Tom. What affair, said Sir Thomas, looking up from his millions? I think I should like to marry. The best thing you can do, my boy, only it depends upon who the young lady may be. My mind is made up about that, sir. I mean to marry my cousin. I don't see why a young man isn't to choose for himself. Then Sir Thomas preached his sermon, but preached it in the manner which men are won't to use when they know that they're preaching in vain. There is a tone of refusal which, though the words used may be manifestly enough words of denial, is in itself indicative of ascent. Sir Thomas ended the conference by taking a week to think over the matter, and when the week was over gave way. He was still inclined to think that marriages with cousins had better be avoided, but he gave way, and at last promised that if Tom and Ayala were of one mind an income should be forthcoming. For the carrying out of this purpose it was necessary that the door of Uncle Dosset's house should be unlocked, and with the object of turning the key Sir Thomas himself called at the admiralty. I find my boy is quite in earnest about this, he said to the admiralty clerk. Oh, indeed! I can't say I quite like it myself. Mr. Dosset could only shake his head. Cousins had better be cousins and nothing more. And then you would probably expect him to get money? Not at all, said Sir Thomas proudly. I have got money enough for them both. It isn't an affair of money. To make a long story short I have given my consent, and therefore, if you do not mind, I shall be glad if you will allow Tom to call it the crescent. Of course you may have your own views, but I don't suppose you can hope to do better for the girl. Friends do marry, you know, very often. Mr. Dosset could only say that he could not expect to do anything for the girl nearly as good, and that as far as he was concerned his nephew Tom should be made quite welcome at Kingsbury Crescent. It was not, he added, in his power to answer for Ayala. As to this Sir Thomas did not seem to have any doubts. The good things of the world which it was in his power to offer were so good that it was hardly probable that a young lady in Ayala's position should refuse them. My dear, said Aunt Margaret, the next morning, speaking in her most suasive tone, your cousin Tom is to be allowed to call here. Tom Tringle? Yes, my dear, Sir Thomas has consented. Then he had better not, said Ayala, bristling up in hot anger. Uncle Thomas got nothing to do with it, either in refusing or consenting. I won't see him. I think you must see him, if he calls. But I don't want. Oh, Aunt Margaret, pray make him not come. I don't like him a bit. We were doing so very well. Are we not, Aunt Margaret? Certainly, my dear, we are doing very well. At least I hope so. But you're old enough now to understand that this is a very serious matter. Of course it's serious, said Ayala, who certainly was not guilty of the fault of making light of her future life. Those dreams of hers, in which were contained all her hopes and all her aspirations, were very serious to her. This was so much the case that she had by no means thought of her cousin Tom in a light spirit as though he were a matter of no moment to her. He was to her just what the beast must have been to the beauty when the beast first began to be in love. But her safety had consisted in the fact that no one had approved of the beast being in love with her. Now she could understand that all the horrors of oppression might fall upon her. Of course it was serious, but not the less was she resolved that nothing should induce her to marry the beast. I think you ought to see him when he comes and to remember how different it will be when he comes with the approval of his father. It is, of course, saying that they are ready to welcome you as their daughter. I don't want to be anybody's daughter. But Ayala, there are so many things to be thought of. Here is a young man who is able to give you not only every comfort but great opulence. I don't want to be opulent. And he will be a baronet. I don't care about baronets, Aunt Margaret. And you will have a house of your own in which you may be of service to your sister. I had rather she should have a house. But Tom is not in love with Lucy. He's such a lout, Aunt Margaret. I won't have anything to say to him. I would a great deal sooner die. Uncle Tom has no right to send him here. They've got rid of me and I'm very glad of it. But it isn't fair that he should come after me now that I'm gone away. Can Uncle Reginald tell him to stay away? A great deal more was said, but nothing that was said had the slightest effect on Ayala. When she was told of her dependent position and of the splendour of the prospects offered, she declared that she would rather go into the poor house than marry her cousin. When she was told that Tom was good-natured, honest and true, she declared that good-natured honesty and truth had nothing to do with it. When she was asked what it was that she looked forward to in the world, she could merely sob and say that there was nothing. She could not tell even her sister Lucy of those dreams and castles. How then could she explain them to her Aunt Margaret? How could she make her aunt understand that there could be no place in her heart for Tom Tringle, seeing that it was to be kept in reserve for some angel of light who would surely make his appearance in due season, but who must still be there present to her as her angel of light, even should he never show himself in the flesh? How vain it was to talk of Tom Tringle to her when she had so visible before her eyes that angel of light with whom she was compelled to compare him. But though she could not be brought to say that she would listen patiently to his story, she was nevertheless made to understand that she must see him when he came to her. Aunt Margaret was very full on that subject. The young man, who was approved of by the young lady's friends, and who had means at his command, was in Mrs. Dosset's opinion entitled to her hearing. How otherwise were properly authorized marriages to be made up and arranged. When this was going on there was, in some slight degree, a diminished sympathy between Ayala and her aunt. Ayala still continued her household duties, over which in the privacy of her own room she had grown sadly, but she continued them in silence. Her aunt, upon whom she had counted, was, she thought, turning against her. Mrs. Dosset, on the other hand, declared to herself that the girl was romantic and silly. Husbands with every immediate comfort and a prospect of almost unlimited wealth are not to be found under every hedge. What right could a girl so dependent as Ayala have to refuse an eligible match? She therefore, in this way, became an advocate on behalf of Tom, as did also Uncle Reginald more mildly. Uncle Reginald merely remarked that Tom was attending to his business, which was a great thing in a young man. It was not much, but it showed Ayala that in this matter her uncle was her enemy. In this her terrible crisis she had not a friend, unless it might be Lucy. Then a day was fixed on which Tom was to come, which made the matter more terrible by anticipation. What can be the good, Ayala said to her aunt when the hour named for the interview was told her, as I can tell him everything just as well without his coming at all. But all that had been settled. Aunt Margaret had repeated over and over again that such an excellent young man as Tom, with such admirable intentions, was entitled to a hearing from any young lady. In reply to this Ayala simply made a grimace which was intended to signify the utter contempt in which she held her cousin Tom with all his wealth. Tom Tringle, in spite of his rings and a certain dash of vulgarity, which was perhaps not altogether his own fault, was not a bad fellow. Having taken it into his heart that he was very much in love, he was very much in love. He pictured to himself a happiness of a wholesome, cleanly kind. To have the girl as his own, to caress her and foster her, and expend himself in making her happy, to exalt her so as to have it acknowledged that she was at any rate as important as Augusta, to learn something from her so that he too might become romantic and in some degree poetical. All this had come home to him in a not ignoble manner. But it had not come home to him that Ayala might probably refuse him. Hitherto Ayala had been very persistent in her refusals, but then hitherto there had existed the opposition of all the family. Now he had overcome that, and he felt therefore that he was entitled to ask and to receive. On the day fixed, and at the hour fixed, he came in the plenitude of all his rings. Poor Tom, it was a pity that he should have had no one to advise him as to his apparel. Ayala hated his jewellery. She was not quite distinct in her mind as to the raiment which would be worn by the angel of light when he should come, but she was sure that he would not be chiefly conspicuous for heavy gilding, and Tom, moreover, had a waistcoat which would of itself have been suicidal. Just as he was, however, he was shown up into the drawing-room where he found Ayala alone. It was certainly a misfortune to him that no preliminary conversation was possible. Ayala had been instructed to be there with the express object of listening to an offer of marriage. The work had to be done and should be done, but it would not admit of other ordinary courtesies. She was very angry with him, and she looked to anger. Why should she be subjected to this terrible annoyance? He had sense enough to perceive that there was no place for a preliminary courtesy, and therefore rushed away at once to the matter in hand. Ayala, he exclaimed, coming and standing before her as she sat upon the sofa. Tom, she said, looking boldly up into his face. Ayala, I love you better than anything else in the world. But what's the good of it? Of course it was different when I told you so before. I meant to stick to it, and I was determined that the governor should give way, but you couldn't know that. Mother and the girls were all against us. They weren't against me, said Ayala. They were against our being married, and so they squeezed you out, as it were. That's why you've been sent to this place. But they understand me now, and know what I'm about. They will have all given their consent, and the governor has promised to be liberal. When he says a thing, he'll do it. There'll be lots of money. I don't care a bit about money, said Ayala fiercely. No more do I, except only that it's comfortable. It wouldn't do to marry without money, would it? It would do very well if anybody cared for anybody. The angel of light generally appeared in former Poporus, though there was always about him a tinge of bright azure, which was hardly compatible with the draggled-tailed hue of everyday poverty. But an income is a good thing, and the governor will come down like a brick. The governor has nothing to do with it. I told you before that it is all nonsense. If you will only go away and say nothing about it, I shall always think you very good-natured. But I won't go away," said Tom, speaking out boldly. I mean to stick to it, Ayala. I don't believe you understand that I'm thoroughly in earnest. Why shouldn't I be in earnest, too? But I love you, Ayala. I have set my heart upon it. You don't know how well I love you. I have quite made up my mind about it. And I have made up my mind. But Ayala! Now the tenor of his face changed, and something of the look of her despairing lover took the place of that offensive triumph which had at first sat upon his brow. I don't suppose you care for any other fellow yet? There was the angel of light. But even though she might be most anxious to explain to him that his suit was altogether impracticable, she could say nothing to him about the angel. Though she was sure that the angel would come, she was not certain that she would ever give herself altogether, even to the angel. The celestial castle which was ever being built in her imagination was, as yet, very much complicated. But had it been ever so clear, it would have been quite impossible to explain anything of this to her cousin Tom. That has nothing to do with it, she said. If you knew how I love you. This came from him with a sob, and as he sobbed he went down before her on his knees. Don't be a fool, Tom, pray don't. If you won't get up I shall go away, I must go away, I've heard all that there is to hear. I told them that there is no use in your coming. Ayala! With this there were veritable sobs. Then why don't you give it up and let us be good friends? I can't give it up, I won't give it up. When a fellow means it as I do, he never gives it up. Nothing on earth shall make me give it up. Ayala! You've got to do it, and so I tell you. Nobody can make me, said Ayala, nodding her head, but somewhat tamed by the unexpected passion of the young man. Then you won't say one kind word to me? I can't say anything kinder. Very well, then I shall go away and come again constantly till you do. I mean to have you. When you come to know how very much I love you I do think you will give way at last. With that he picked himself up from the ground and hurried out of the house without saying another word. CHAPTER XII The scene described in the last chapter took place in March. For three days afterwards there was quiescence in Kingsbury Crescent. Then there came a letter from Tom to Ayala, very pressing, full of love and resolution, offering to wait any time, even a month, if she wished it, but still persisting in his declared intention of marrying her sooner or later. Not by any means a bad letter had there not been about it a little touch of bombast which made it odious to Ayala's sensitive appreciation. To this Ayala wrote a reply in the following words. When I tell you that I won't, you oughtn't to go on, it isn't manly. Ayala! Pray do not write again, for I shall never answer another. Of this she said nothing to Mrs. Dosset, though the arrival of Tom's letter must have been known to that lady, and she posted her own epistle without a word as to what she was doing. She wrote again and again to Lucy, imploring her sister to come to her, urging that as circumstances now were she could not show herself at the house in Queensgate. To these Lucy always replied, but she did not reply by coming, and hardly made it intelligible why she did not come. Aunt Emmeline hoped, she said, that Ayala would very soon be able to be at Queensgate. Then there was the difficulty about the carriage. No one would walk across with her except Tom, and walking by herself was forbidden. Aunt Emmeline did not like cabs. Then there came a third or fourth letter in which Lucy was more explanatory, but yet not sufficiently so. During the Easter assess which would take place in the middle of April, Augusta and Mr. Traffic would be married. The happy couple were to be blessed with a divided honeymoon. The interval between Easter and Witsentide would require Mr. Traffic's presence in the house, and the bride with her bridegroom were to return to Queensgate. Then they would depart again for the second holidays, and when they were so gone, Aunt Emmeline hoped that Ayala would come to them for a visit. They quite understand, said Lucy, that it will not do to have you and Augusta together. This was not at all what Ayala wanted. It won't do at all to have me and him together, said Ayala to herself, alluding, of course, to Tom Tringle. But why did not Lucy come over to her? Lucy, who knew so well that her sister did not want to see any one of the Tringles, who must have been sure that any visit to Queensgate must have been impossible, or to have come to her. To whom else could she say a word in her trouble? It was thus that Ayala argued with herself, declaring to herself that she must soon die in her misery, unless indeed that angel of light might come to her assistance very quickly. But Lucy had troubles of her own in reference to the family at Queensgate, which did in fact make it almost impossible to visit her sister for some weeks. Sir Thomas had given an unwilling but a frank consent to his son's marriage, and then expected simply to be told that it would take place at such and such a time when money would be required. Lady Tringle had given her consent, but not quite frankly. She still would feign have forbidden the bans had any power of forbidding remained in her hands. Augusta was still hot against the marriage, and still resolute to prevent it. That proposed journey upstairs after the scrapbook at Glen Bogey, that real journey up to the top of St. Peter's, still rankled in her heart. That Tom should make Ayala a future baronet's wife, that Tom should endow Ayala with the greatest share of the Tringle wealth, that Ayala should become powerful in Queensgate and dominant probably at Moll Park and Glen Bogey was wormwood to her. She was conscious that Ayala was pretty and witty, though she could affect her despise the wit and the prettiness. By instigating her mother, and by inducing Mr. Traffic to interfere when Mr. Traffic should be a member of the family, she thought that she might prevail. With her mother she did in part prevail. Her future husband was at present too much engaged with supply and demand to be able to give his thoughts to Tom's affairs, but there would soon be a time when he naturally would be compelled to divide his thoughts. Then there was Gertrude. Gertrude's own affairs had not as yet been smiled upon, and the want of smiles she attributed very much to Augusta. Why should Augusta have her way, and not she, Gertrude, nor her brother Tom? She therefore leaned herself with Tom, and declared herself quite prepared to receive Ayala into the house. In this way the family was very much divided. When Lucy first made her petition for the carriage expressing her desire to see Ayala, both her uncle and her aunt were in the room. Objection was made, some frivolous objection, by Lady Tringle, who did not in truth care to maintain much connection between Queensgate and the Crescent. Then Sir Thomas, in his burly authoritative way, had said that Ayala had better come to them. That same evening he had settled or intended to settle it with his wife, let Ayala come as soon as the traffic, as they would then be, should have gone. To this Lady Tringle had ascended, knowing more than her husband as to Ayala's feelings, and thinking that in this way a breach might be made between them. Ayala had been a great trouble to her, and she was beginning to be almost sick of the dorma connection altogether. It was thus that Lucy was hindered from seeing her sister for six weeks after that first formal declaration of his love, made by Tom to Ayala. Tom had still persevered and had forced his way more than once into Ayala's presence, but Ayala's answers had been always the same. It's a great shame, and you have no right to treat me in this way. Then came the traffic marriage with great Eclat. There were no less than four traffic bridesmaids, all of them no doubt noble, but none of them very young, and Gertrude and Lucy were bridesmaids, and two of Augusta's friends. Ayala, of course, was not of the party. Tom was gorgeous in his apparel, not in the least depressed by his numerous repulses, quite confident of ultimate success, and proud of his position as a lover with so beautiful a girl. He talked of his affairs to all his friends, and seemed to think that even on this wedding-day his part was as conspicuous as that of his sister because of his affair with his beautiful cousin. Augusta doesn't hide it off with her, he said to one of his friends, who asked why Ayala was not at the wedding. Augusta is the biggest fool out, you know, she is proud of her husband because he is the son of a lord. I wouldn't change Ayala for the daughter of any duchess in Europe." Thus showing that he regarded Ayala as being almost his own already. Lord Bordetrade was there, making a semi-Jakos speech, quite in the approved way for a cognate pay to familiar us. Perhaps there was something of a thorn in this to Sir Thomas, as it had become apparent at last that Mr. Traffic himself did not propose to add anything from his own resources to the income on which he intended to live with his wife. Lord Bordetrade had been obliged to do so much for his eldest son that there appeared to be nothing left for the member for Port Glasgow. Sir Thomas was prepared with his a hundred and twenty thousand pounds, and did not, perhaps, mind this very much, but a man, when he pays his money, likes to have some return for it, and he did not quite like the tone with which the old nobleman, not possessed of very old standing in the peerage, seemed to imply that he, like a noble old Providence, had enveloped the whole Tringle family in the mantle of his noble blood. He combined the Jakos and the paternal in the manner appropriate to such occasions. But there did run through Sir Thomas's mind as he heard him, an idea that a hundred and twenty thousand pounds was a sufficient sum to pay, and that it might be necessary to make Mr. Traffick understand that out of the income thenceforth coming he must provide a house for himself and his wife. It had been already arranged that he was to return to Queensgate with his wife for the period between Easter and Witson Tide. It had lately, quite lately, been hinted to Sir Thomas that the married pair would run up again after the second holidays. Mr. Septimus Traffick had once spoken of Glen Bogie as almost all his own, and Augusta had, in her father's hearing, said a word intended to be very affectionate about Dear Mole Park. Sir Thomas was a father all over with the father's feelings, but even a father does not like to be done. Mr. Traffick, no doubt, was a member of Parliament and son of a peer, but there might be a question whether even Mr. Traffick had not been purchased at quite his full value. Nevertheless the marriage was pronounced to have been a success. Shortly after it, early indeed on the following morning, Sir Thomas inquired when Ayala was coming to Queensgate. "'Is it necessary that you should come quite at present?' asked Lady Tringle. "'I thought it was all settled,' said Sir Thomas angrily. This had been said in the privacy of his own dressing-room, but downstairs at the breakfast-table, in the presence of Gertrude and Lucy, he returned to the subject. Tom, who did not live in the house, was not there. "'I suppose we might as well have Ayala now,' he said, addressing himself chiefly to Lucy. Do go and manage it with her.' There was not a word more said. Sir Thomas did not always have his own way in his family, what man was ever happy enough to do that, but he was seldom directly contradicted. Lady Tringle, when the order was given, pursed up her lips, and he, had he been observant, might have known that she did not intend to have Ayala if she could help it, but he was not observant, except as to millions. When Sir Thomas was gone, Lady Tringle discussed the matter with Lucy. "'Of course, my dear,' she said, if we could make dear Ayala happy. "'I don't think she will come, Aunt Emilyne.' "'Not come?' This was not said at all in a voice of anger, but simply as eliciting some further expression of opinion. "'She's afraid of Tom,' Lucy had never hitherto expressed a positive opinion on that matter at Queensgate. When Augusta had spoken of Ayala as having run after Tom, Lucy had been indignant and had declared that the running had all been on the other side. In a side way she had hinted that Ayala, at any rate at present, was far from favourable to Tom's suit, but she had never yet spoken out her mind at Queensgate, as Ayala had spoken it to her. "'I'm afraid of him,' said Aunt Emilyne. "'I mean that she's not a bit in love with him, and when a girl is like that, I suppose she is afraid of a man, if everybody else wants her to marry him.' "'Why, should everybody want her to marry Tom?' asked Lady Tringle indignantly. "'I'm sure I don't want her.' "'I suppose it is Uncle Tom and Aunt Dosset and Uncle Reginald,' said poor Lucy, finding that she had made a mistake. "'I don't see why anybody should want her to marry Tom. Tom is carried away by her baby-face and makes a fool of himself. As to everybody wanting her, I hope she does not flatter herself that there is anything of the kind. I only meant that I think she would rather not be brought here, where she would have to see him daily. After this the loan of the carriage was at last made, and Lucy was allowed to visit her sister at the Crescent. Has he been there?' was almost the first question that Ayala asked. "'What he do you mean? Is it all Hamel?' "'No, I have not seen him since I met him in the park, but I do not want to talk about Mr. Hamel, Ayala. Mr. Hamel is nothing.' "'Oh, Lucy!' "'Is nothing. Had he been anything, he has gone, and there would be an end to it, but he is nothing.' "'If a man is true he may go, but he will come back,' Ayala had her ideas about the Angel of Light, very clearly impressed upon her mind in regard to the conduct of the man, though they were terribly vague as to his personal appearance, his condition of life, his appropriateness for marriage and many other details of his circumstances. It had also often occurred to her that this Angel of Light, when he should come, might not be in love with herself, and that she might have to die simply because she had seen him and loved him in vain. But he would be a man sure to come back if there were fitting reasons that he should do so. His little Hamel was not quite an Angel of Light, but he was nearly an Angelic, at any rate, very good, and surely would come back. Never mind about Mr. Hamel, Ayala. It is not nice to talk about a man who has never spoken a word. Never spoken a word. Oh, Lucy! Mr. Hamel has never spoken a word, and I will not talk about him. There! All my heart is open to you, Ayala. You know that. But I will not talk about Mr. Hamel. Aunt Emilyne wants you to come to Queen's Gate. I will not. Or rather, it is Sir Thomas who wants you to come. I do like Uncle Tom. I do indeed. So do I. You ought to come when he asks you. Why ought I? That lout will be there, of course. I don't know about his being a lout, Ayala. He comes here, and I have to be perfectly brutal to him. You can't guess the sort of things I say to him, and he doesn't mind it a bit. He thinks that he has to go on long enough, and that I must give way at last. If I were to go to Queen's Gate, it would be just as much as to say that I had given way. Why not? Lucy! Why not? He's not bad, he's honest, and true, and kind-hearted. I know you can't be happy here. No! Aunt Dosset, with all her affairs, must be troubled to you. I could not bear them patiently. How can you? Because they're better than Tom Tringle. I read somewhere about their being seven houses of the devil, each one being lower and worse than the other. Tom would be the lowest, the lowest, the lowest. Ayala, my darling. Don't tell me that I ought to marry Tom, said Ayala, almost standing off in anger from the Prophet Kiss. Do you think that I could love him? I think you could if you tried, because he's lovable. It is so much to be good, and then he loves you truly. After all, it's something to have everything nice around you. You have not been made to be poor and uncomfortable. I fear that it must be bad with you here. It is bad. I wish I could have stayed, Ayala. I'm more tranquil than you, and could have borne it better. It is bad. It's one of the houses, but not the lowest. I can eat my heart out here peaceably, and die with a great needle in my hand and a towel in my lap. But if I were to marry him, I should kill myself the first hour after I'd gone away with him. Things? What would things be with such a monster as that leaning over one? Would you marry him? In answer to this, Lucy made no immediate reply. Why don't you say you want me to marry him, would you? No. Then why should I? I could not try to love him. Try? How can a girl try to love any man? It should come because she can't help it. Let her try ever so. Trying to love Tom Tringle, why can't you try? He doesn't want me. But if he did, I don't suppose it would make the least difference to him which it was. Would you try if he asked? No. Then why should I? Am I so much a poorer creature than you? You're a finer creature. You know that I think so. I don't want to be finer. I want to be the same. You are free to do as you please. I am not quite. That means is it all humble? I try to tell you all the truth, Ayala, but pray do not talk about him even to me. As for you, you are free, and if you could, I can't. I don't know that I am free, as you call it. Then Lucy started as though about to ask the question which would naturally follow. You needn't look at me like that, Lucy. There isn't any one to be named. A man not to be named. There isn't a man at all. There isn't any body. But I may have my own ideas, if I please. If I had an isid or humble of my own, I could compare Tom or Mr. Traffic or any other loud to him, and could say how infinitely higher in the order of things was my isidore than any of them. Though I haven't an isidore, can't I have an image, and can't I make my image brighter, even higher, than isidore? You won't believe that, of course, and I don't want you to believe it yourself, but you should believe it for me. My image can make Tom Tringle just as horrible to me as isidore humble can make him to you. Thus it was, said Ayala, endeavored to explain to her sister something of the castle which she had built in the air, and the angel of light who inhabited the castle. Then it was decided between them that Lucy should explain to Aunt Emily that Ayala could not make a prolonged stay at Queensgate. But how shall I say it? asked Lucy. Tell her the truth openly. Tom wants to marry Ayala, and Ayala won't have him. Therefore, of course, she can't come, because he would look as though she were going to change her mind, which she isn't. Aunt Emily will understand that, and will not be a bit sorry. She doesn't want to have me for a daughter-in-law. She had quite enough of me in Rome. All this time the carriage was waiting, and Lucy was obliged to return before half of all that was necessary had been said. What was to be Ayala's life for the future? How were the sisters to see each other? What was to be done when, at the end of the coming summer, Lucy should be taken first to Glenbogie and then to Merle Park? There is a support in any excitement, though it be an excitement of sorrow only. At the present moment Ayala was kept alive by the necessity of her battle with Tom Tringle. But how would it be with her when Tom should have given up the fight? Lucy knew, by side experience, how great might be the tedium of life in Kingsbury Crescent, and knew also how unfitted Ayala was to endure it. There seemed to be no prospect of escape in future. She knows nothing of what I am suffering, said Ayala, when she gives me the things to do and tells me of more things and more and more. How can there be so many things to be done in such a house as this? But as Lucy was endeavouring to explain how different were the arrangements in Kingsbury Crescent from those which had prevailed at the Bijou, the offended coachman sent up word to say that he didn't think Sir Thomas would like it if the horses were kept out in the rain any longer. Then Lucy hurried down, not having spoken of half the things which were down in her mind on the list for discussion.