Lady Susan was, however, more aware of it than she knew; Lady Tyrrell had ‘candidly’ given her a hint that there had been ’some nonsense about Frank Charnock,’ but that he could never afford such a marriage, even if his mother would allow it, all which she never would.  Besides, he had not fallen into a satisfactory set in London—­why, it was not needful to tell.

When, after the drive, Lady Tyrrell, fairly tired out by her visitor’s unfailing conversation and superabundant energy, had gone to lie down and recruit for the evening, Lady Susan pressed on Eleonora a warm invitation to the house in Yorkshire which she was renting, and where Lorimer would get as much shooting as his colonel would permit.  The mention of him made Lenore blush to the ears, and say, “Dear Lady Susan, you are always so kind to me that I ought to be open with you.  Don’t fancy—­”

“I understand, I understand, my dear,” broke in Lady Susan.  “You shall not be teased.  Do not the girls and I care for you for your own sake?”

“I hope so.”

The elder lady sprang up and embraced her.  Affection was very pleasant to the reserved nature that could do so little to evoke caresses.  Yet Eleonora clasped her Rockpier charm in her hand, and added, “I must tell you that so far as I can without disobedience, I hold myself engaged to Frank Charnock.”

“To Frank Charnock?” repeated Lady Susan, startled at this positive statement.  “My dear, are you quite sure of his ways?—­since he has been in town I mean.”

“I know him, and I trust him.”

“I’m sure he is a fine-looking young man, and very clever, they say; dear Julia Poynsett’s son too, and they have all turned out so well,” said honest Lady Susan; “but though you have been used to it all your life, my dear, a taste for horses is very dangerous in a young man who can’t afford to lose now and then, you know.”

“I have seriously made up my mind never to marry a man who has anything to do with the turf,” said Eleonora.

“Ah, my poor dear, I can understand that,” said Lady Susan, aware how ill this told for her Lory.  “May I ask, does he know it?”

“It would insult him to say it.  None of the Charnocks ever meddle with those things.  Ah!  I know your son saw him on the Derby-day; but he went down with his eldest brother and his wife—­and that is a very different thing!  I stayed at home, you remember—­papa had a fit of the gout.”

“My dear, I don’t want to accuse him.  Don’t bristle up; only I am sorry, both for my own little plan of having you for my very own, and because I fear there is trouble in store for you.  It can’t be palatable.”  Here Eleonora shook her head, and her worn, wearied look went to the good-natured heart.  “Dear child, you have gone through a great deal.  You shan’t be worried or fretted about anybody or anything at Revelrig.”

“I should be very glad,” said Lenore, who had no fears of Lory personally, though she could not be invited on false pretences.