Chapter 13 - Page 2

of embarrassed
humility, Lydia acknowledged her salutation kindly, and waited for
her to speak.

"I hope you won't consider it a liberty," said the stranger,
tremulously. "I'm Mrs. Skene."

Lydia became ominously grave; and Mrs. Skene reddened a little. Then
she continued, as if repeating a carefully prepared and rehearsed
speech, "It would be esteemed a favor if I might have the honor of a
few words in private with your ladyship."

Lydia looked and felt somewhat stern; but it was not in her nature
to rebuff any one without strong provocation. She invited her
visitor to enter, and led the way to the circular drawing-room, the
strange decorations of which exactly accorded with Mrs. Skene's
ideas of aristocratic splendor. As a professor of deportment and
etiquette, the ex-champion's wife was nervous under the observation
of such an expert as Lydia; but she got safely seated without having
made a mistake to reproach herself with. For, although entering a
room seems a simple matter to many persons, it was to Mrs. Skene an
operation governed by the strict laws of the art she professed, and
one so elaborate that few of her pupils mastered it satisfactorily
with less than a month's practice. Mrs Skene soon dismissed it from
her mind. She was too old to dwell upon such vanities when real
anxieties were pressing upon her.

"Oh, miss," she began, appealingly, "the boy!"

Lydia knew at once who was meant. But she repeated, as if at a loss,
"The boy?" And immediately accused herself of insincerity.

"Our boy, ma'am. Cashel."

"Mrs. Skene!" said Lydia, reproachfully.

Mrs. Skene understood all that Lydia's tone implied. "I know,
ma'am," she pleaded. "I know well. But what could I do but come to
you? Whatever you said to him, it has gone to his heart; and he's
dying."

"Pardon me," said Lydia, promptly; "men do not die of such things;
and Mr. Cashel Byron is not so deficient either in robustness of
body or hardness of heart as to be an exception to THAT rule."

"Yes, miss," said Mrs. Skene, sadly. "You are thinking of the
profession. You can't believe he has any feelings because he fights.
Ah, miss, if you only knew them as I do! More tender-hearted men
don't breathe. Cashel is like a young child, his feelings are that
easily touched; and I have known stronger than he to die of broken
hearts only because they were unlucky in their calling. Just think
what a high-spirited young man must feel when a lady calls him a
wild beast. That was a cruel word, miss; it was, indeed."

Lydia was so disconcerted by this attack that she had