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not obey you if you did,” replied Lord Denham, amused. “She has a strong will of her own.” Then, hastily turning the subject, he commented on the excellence of the sherry.
    “Jeremy is in charge of my cellars, in addition to all the other duties I pile on his shoulders.”
    “Superb, Mr. Denison. Where did you find this?”
    “My uncle is in the wine trade, my lord. The family has second choice, after his most favored customers.”
    “That is why Jeremy is in charge of my cellars,” said Richard smugly.
    Lucy and Lady Annabel were awaiting the gentlemen in the breakfast room. A cold collation was spread on the buffet, and Lucy, after her exertions of the morning, forgot her good resolutions and helped herself to a huge plateful. Noting her mother’s reproving look, she apologized.
    “I’m sorry, mama, but I am simply ravenous. We rode for miles, and then seeing Clarissa—Miss Fell—take only a cup of soup made me even hungrier. Richard, I helped Mrs. Bedford feed Miss Fell and then I read poetry to her. She fell asleep,” she added ingenuously.
    The gentlemen laughed.
    “What did you read her, Miss Lucy? Not Cowper, I trust, for then it is no wonder she fell asleep.”
    “Well, Jeremy, I did not think Macbeth suitable.”
    Mr. Denison, whose devotion to the bard was a byword, gracefully accepted the laughter directed this time at him.
    In the afternoon, Richard and Jeremy rode out to inspect the flocks and call on one or two tenant farmers. Lord Denham was persuaded to go with them, grumbling loudly that he had had more exercise in a week in Yorkshire than in the rest of the year.
    Lucy was sent to practice upon the pianoforte. Her last governess had left in despair some eighteen months previously, quite unable to make Lucy mind her. Since that time, Lady Annabel had instructed her. Lucy’s intelligence gave her a quick grasp of such subjects as French and geography; but though she obeyed her mother, she was totally uninterested in such ladylike accomplishments as drawing and embroidery, and only practiced the piano assiduously because she enjoyed it. Her liveliness made her both a rewarding and an exhausting pupil, and after a busy morning and half an hour of supervising her playing, Lady Annabel retired for a nap.
    From this she was called by her abigail, with the news that the Vicar and Mrs. Crane were come to see her. The Reverend Mr. Crane was another neighbor who would not take no for an answer. He and his wife were busybodies and great gossips, considering anything that occurred in their parish to be their business. The Carstairs tolerated them but were not intimate with them, though naturally they went to morning service every Sunday.
    The Cranes had, of course, heard about Miss Fell. Lady Annabel found Lucy trying manfully to cope with a flood of nosy questions and delighted to be rescued even to be sent back to the pianoforte. Lady Annabel, more adept in the ways of the world, had no trouble stemming the tide and sending the couple on their way satisfied with a minimum of information. She even managed to persuade the vicar that her “old friend’s daughter” was in no immediate need of spiritual consolation, yet was too ill to receive visitors.
    In fact, that evening Miss Fell was strong enough to eat some chicken and a custard instead of the broth, which, however excellent, palled as a constant diet. Lady Annabel was delighted to see a little color in her cheeks, and though she was tired after sitting up to eat, she was wakeful. Eager to avoid a conversation that would be certain to lead to subjects better left alone for the present, Lady Annabel suggested that Lucy might read to Miss Fell again.
    “But perhaps not Cowper,” suggested Miss Fell with a twinkle in her eye. “I’m afraid I fell asleep this afternoon.”
    Lucy was happy to find that Miss Fell would enjoy hearing a chapter of the novel she had recently received in the mail. This coincidence of taste, however much due to her own