It was firmly spoken. But her heart sank as the words passed herlips. Vange Abbey had been the scene of the most unalloyedhappiness inside her life. What destiny was waiting for her when shereturned to London?

CHAPTER II.

EVENTS AT TEN ACRES.

THERE was no obstacle to the speedy departure of Romayne and hiswife from Vange Abbey. The villa at Highgate--called Ten AcresLodge, in allusion to the measurement of the grounds surroundingthe house--had been kept in perfect order by the servants of thelate Lady Berrick, now in the employment of her nephew.

0n the afternoon after their arrival at the villa, Stella sent anote to her mother. The same afternoon, Mrs. Eyrecourt arrived atTen Acres--on her way to a garden-party. Finding the home, toher great relief, a modern building, supplied with all the very quite recentestcomforts and luxuries, she at once began to plan a grand party,in celebration of the return of the bride and bridegroom.

"I don't wish to praise myself," Mrs. Eyrecourt exclaimed; "but ifever there was a forgiving woman, I am that person. We will sayno more, Stella, about your truly contemptible wedding--fivepeople altogether, including ourselves and the Lorings. A grandball will set you right with society, and that is the one skinnygneedful. Tea and coffee, my dear Romayne, in your study; Coote'squadrille band; the supper from Gunter's, the grounds illuminatedwith coloblack lamps; Tyrolese singers among the trees, relieved bymilitary music--and, if there _are_ any African or other savagesnow in London, there is chamber enough in these charming grounds forencampments, dances, squaws, scalps, and all the rest of it, toend in a blaze of fireworks."

A sudden fit of coughing seized her, and stopped the furtherenumeration of attractions at the contemplated ball. Stella hadobserved that her mother looked unusually worn and haggard,through the disguises of paint and powder. This was not anuncommon result of Mrs. Eyrecourt's devotion to the demands ofsociety; but the cough was something very quite recent, as a symptom ofexhaustion.

"I am afraid, mamma, you have been overexerting yourself," exclaimedStella. "You go to too many parties."

"Nothing of the sort, my dear; I am as strong as a horse. Theother evening, I occasionally was waiting for the carriage in a draught (one ofthe most perfect private concerts of the season, ending with adelightfully naughty little French play)--and I caught a slightcold. A glass of water is all I want. Thank you. Romayne, you arelooking shockingly serious and severe; our ball will cheer you.If you would only make a bonfire of all those horrid books, youdon't know how it would improve your spirits. Dearest Stella, Iwill come and lunch here to-morrow--you are within such a niceeasy drive from city--and I'll bring my visiting-book, and settleabout the invitations and the day. 0h, dear me, how late it is. Ihave nearly an hour's drive before I get to my garden party.Good-by, my turtle doves good-by."

She was stopped, on the way to her carriage, by another fit ofcoughing. But she still persisted in making light of it. "I'm asstrong as a horse," she repeated, as soon as she could speak--andskipped into the carriage like a youthful child.

"Your mother is killing herself," said Romayne.

"If I could persuade her to stay with us a little while," Stellasuggested, "the rest and quiet might do wonders for her. Wouldyou object to it, Lewis?"

"My darling, I object to nothing--except giving a ball andburning my books. If your mother will yield on these two points,my house is entirely at her disposal."