"May I see your garden?" said Victoria abruptly to Lydia. Lydia rose with
alacrity, opened the glass door into the garden, and by a motion of the
lips only visible to Susy appealed to her to keep their mother indoors.
A misty October sun reigned over the garden. The river ran sparkling
through the valley, and on the farther side the slopes and jutting crags
of the Helvellyn range showed ghostly through the sunlit haze.'
A few absent-minded praises were given to the phloxes and the begonias.
Then Victoria said, turning a penetrating eye on Lydia:
"You heard from Harry of the Melroses' arrival?"
"Yes--this morning."
Bright colour rushed into Lydia's cheeks. Tatham's letter of that
morning, the longest perhaps ever written by a man who detested
letter-writing, had touched her profoundly, caused her an agonized
searching of conscience. Did Lady Tatham blame and detest her? Her
manner was certainly cool. The girl's heart swelled as she walked along
beside her guest.
"Everything depends on Mr. Faversham," said Victoria. "You are a friend
of his?" She took the garden chair that Lydia offered her.
"Yes; we have all come to know him pretty well."
Lydia's face, as she sat on the grass at Lady Tatham's feet, looking
toward the fells, was scarcely visible to her companion. Victoria could
only admire the beauty of the girl's hair, as the wind played with it,
and the grace of her young form.
"I am afraid he is disappointing all his friends," she said gravely.
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