“She has improved her style,” someone declared. “My dear child,” he said, “with me you need have no apprehension. ’ Lucilla sat up. Do you know, Lady Ferringhall, I am proud that your sister permits me to call myself her friend. And your great-niece. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. He was a Wiltshire Edmondshaw, a very old family. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life.
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