” Lucy replied. ’ ‘Lady Bicknacre too,’ said Lucilla, a delight in her voice that grated on Melusine. “But I wanted to see you. ‘In that case, he is probably already dead, and you have nothing to worry about. The joy of being loved thrilled her as nothing before had ever done, a curious abstract joy which had nothing in it at that moment of regret or even pity. . The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service.
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