"He may not like either of us," said Mildred, who enjoyed nothing so much as irritating her sister.
"I have an idea that he is to be won; I feel almost certain of it. Sir Richard Hastings would be a good match, too; he is very wealthy and handsome--and so, for that matter, is Major Elton."
"What has that to do with it?" asked Mildred. "You have such confused ideas, Veronica. What was that story mamma was telling you about Lord Chandon?"
"Some doleful romance--I did not listen attentively. I think she said he was engaged, before his uncle's death, to marry some girl he was much attached to, and she ran away. She did something or other horrible, and then fled; I think that was it."
"And does he wear the willow for her still?" asked Mildred.
"I should say he has more sense. When girls do anything horrible, they ought to die. Men never mourn long, you know."
"But what did the girl do?" pursued Mildred. "Did she deceive him and marry some one else--or what?"
"I did not feel interested enough to listen," replied Veronica. "Mamma seemed to imply everything most terrible; you must consult her if you want to know the particulars. Aubrey says that a man's heart is often caught at a rebound; and he seems to think that if we are kind and sympathizing to Lord Chandon--smoothing his ruffled plumes, you know--one of us cannot fail to win him."
"How long will our visitors remain?" asked Mildred.
"A month; and much may be done in a month, you know. What is that?"
Well might she ask. First the gold and silver beads fell upon the floor; and then the unhappy girl who held them, white and senseless, fell from the seat, and lay like a crushed and broken lily on the ground.
"Ring the bell," said Veronica; "she has fainted, I suppose. How tiresome! I wonder how it is that governesses have such a propensity to faint."
"She looks like a beautiful statue; but if she takes to this kind of thing, mamma will not find her so very useful after all. Here, King," to the servant who entered, "Miss Holte has fainted; tend to her."
And the two sisters swept from the room with the air of two very superior beings indeed. They never dreamed of helping the unconscious girl; such condescension would have been far too great. Mary King and a fellow-servant carried Hyacinth to her room, and laid her on her bed. Kindly hands ministered to her; she was respected and beloved by the servants, who, quick to judge, pronounced her "a real lady"--much more of a lady than the Misses Dartelle. So now in her distress they ministered unto her.