her own, and divided her time between her London house and her brother’s Cornish castle. She had always expressed it as her intention to [12]provide for Monica, as her father could do little for his daughter, everything going with the entail in the male line; but there was a sort of instinctive hostility between aunt and niece, of which both were well aware, and Lady Diana was always deeply offended and annoyed by Monica’s quiet independence, and her devotion to Arthur. [12] It was of Monica they were talking this boisterous autumn evening. “She has a sadly independent spirit,” remarked Lady Diana, sighing, and fanning herself slowly, although the big panelled room was by no means warm. “I often think of her future, and wonder what will become of her.” Lord Trevlyn made no immediate response, but by-and-by said slowly: [13] [13] “I have been thinking of late very seriously of the future.” “Why of late?” was the rather sharp question. “I have not been feeling so well since my illness in the spring. Raymond Pendrill and his brother have both spoken seriously to me about the necessity for care. I know what that means—they think my state critical. If I am taken, what will become of Monica?” “I shall, of course, provide for her.” “I know you will do all that is kind and generous; but money is not everything. Monica is peculiar: she wants controlling, yet——” “Yet no one can control her: I know that well; or only Arthur and his whims. She has no companions but her dogs and [14]horses. My blood runs cold every time I see her on that wild black thing she rides, with those great dogs bounding round her. There will be another shocking accident one of these days. She ought to be controlled—taken away from her extraordinary life. Yet she will not hear of coming to London with me even on a short visit; she will not even let me speak of it,” and Lady Diana’s face showed that she was much affronted. [14] “That is just it,” said Lord Trevlyn, slowly; “her life and Arthur’s both seem bound up in
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