But what was she to do?  What was to be done generally by that over-cumbered household?  She and her pseudo-mother had been instructed to pack up their jewellery, and they had both obeyed the order.  But she herself at this moment cared but little for any property.  How ought she to behave herself?  Where should she go?  On whose arm could she lean for some support at this terrible time?  As for love, and engagements, and marriage,—­that was all over.  In her difficulty she never for a moment thought of Sir Felix Carbury.  Though she had been silly enough to love the man because he was pleasant to look at, she had never been so far gone in silliness as to suppose that he was a staff upon which any one might lean.  Had that...