register of crimes.  Still she had always been able to detect some clue to her own misdeeds; but here even conjecture was baffled, and in vain she sought for some resting-place for her imagination, in the probable misdemeanour of her lover.  But even allowing all possible latitude for Jacky’s pen, she was forced to acknowledge there must be some ground for her aunt to build upon.  Superficial as her structures generally were, like children’s card-houses, they had always something to rest upon; though (unlike them) her creations were invariably upon a gigantic scale.

Mary had often reflected with surprise that, although Lady Maclauglan had been the person to introduce her to Mrs. Lennox, no intercourse had taken place between the families themselves; and when she had mentioned them to each other Mrs. Lennox had only sighed, and Lady Maclaughlan had humphed.  She despaired of arriving at the knowledge of the truth from her aunts.  Grizzy’s brain was a mere wisp of contradictions; and Jacky’s mind was of that violent hue that cast its own shade upon every object that came in contact with it.  To mention the matter to Colonel Lennox was only to make the relations ridiculous; and, in short, although it was a formidable step, the result of her deliberation was to go to Lady Maclaughlan, and request a solution of her aunt’s dark sayings.  She therefore departed for Milsom Street, and, upon entering the drawing-room, found Grizzy alone, and evidently in even more than usual perturbation.

“Oh, Mary!” cried she, as her niece entered, “I’m sure I’m thankful you’re come.  I was just wishing for you.  You can’t think how much mischief your yesterday’s visit has done.  It’s a thousand pities, I declare, that ever you said a word about your marriage to Sir Sampson.  But of course I don’t mean to blame you, Mary.  You know you couldn’t help it; so don’t vex yourself, for you know that will not make the thing any better now.  Only if Sir Sampson should die—­to be sure I must always think it was that that killed him; and I’m sure it at will soon kill me too-such a friend—­oh, Mary!” Here a burst of grief choked poor Miss Grizzy’s utterance.

“My dear aunt,” said Mary, “you certainly must be mistaken.  Sir Sampson seems to retain no recollection of me.  It is therefore impossible that I could cause him any pain or agitation.”

“Oh certainly!” said Grizzy.  “There’s no doubt Sir Sampson has quite forgot you, Mary—­and no wonder-with your being so long away; but I daresay he’ll come to know you yet.  But I’m sure I hope to goodness he’ll never know you as Mrs. Lennox, Mary.  That would break his heart altogether; for you know the Lennoxes have always been the greatest enemies of the Maclaughlans,—­and of course Sir Sampson can’t bear anybody of the name, which is quite natural.  And it was very thoughtless in me to have forgot that till Philistine put me in mind of it, and poor Sir Sampson has had a very bad night; so I’m sure I hope, Mary, you’ll