“We must put out our programmes,” Cecil added; “people will not work in earnest till the day is fixed and they know the sellers.”

“Yes, the lady patronesses are most important,” said Lady Tyrrell, writing them down:  “Mrs. Raymond Charnock Poynsett; Lady Rosamond, eh?”

“Oh no, Julius won’t hear of it.”

“And opposition is sweet:  so we lose her romantic name, and the stall of the three brides.  Mrs. Miles Charnock is too much out of the world to be worth asking.  Then myself—­Mrs. Duncombe, Mrs. Fuller, as a matter of necessity, Mrs. Moy.”

“Oh!”

“Needful, my dear, to propitiate that set.  Also that mayoress, Mrs. Truelove, isn’t she?  Six.  We’ll fill up with country people!”

Six more distinguished names were soon supplied of ladies who would give their patronage, provided neither toil nor care was required of them; and still consulting, the two friends took their seats in the carriage.  The time of the bazaar was to be fixed by the opening of the town-hall, which was to take place on the 12th of September—­a Thursday, the week before the races; and the most propitious days appeared to be the Tuesday and Wednesday before the Great Backsworth Cup Day, since the world would then be in an excited, pleasure-seeking state, favourable to their designs.

“I shall have a party in the house,” said Lady Tyrrell:  “shall you be able?”

“I can’t tell; you know it does not depend on me, and I certainly shall not ask it as a favour.  Camilla, did I tell you that I tried to make my father understand the state of things, and speak to Raymond?  But he would only say, that while I am so young and inexperienced, it is a great advantage for me to live with Mrs. Poynsett, and that I must be the greatest comfort to her.  Papa is an intense believer in Mrs. Poynsett, and when he once has taken up a notion nothing will convince him.”

“You can’t even make capital of this purchase of a house of your own?”

“I don’t like to do that.”

“My dear, I see your delicacy and forbearance, and I would not urge you, if I did not see how deeply your happiness is concerned.  Of course I don’t mean merely the authority over the wirthschaft, though somehow the cares of it are an ingredient in female contentment; but forgive me, Cecil, I am certain that you will never take your right place—­where you care for it more—­till you have a home of your own.”

“Ah!” The responsive sound burst from the very depths of Cecil’s heart, penetrated as they had never been before; but pride and reserve at once sprang up, and she answered coldly, “I have no reason to complain.”

“Right, my dear Cecil, I like you the better;” and she pressed her hand.

“It is quite true,” said Cecil, withdrawing hers.

“Quite, absolutely true.  He would die rather than give you any reason for the slightest murmur; but, Cecil, dearest, that very heedfulness shows there is something he cannot give you.”