‘Oh, as to that,’ said the earl, rather shamefacedly, ‘she must be provided for. I wouldn’t hear of anything else. You see, Castelton, you mustn’t think me a brute; but it was on the cards that sooner or later I should marry. My uncles were always at me about the necessity of an heir, and all that sort of thing; and I suppose it is the penalty of inheriting a title, that one must think of carrying it on. You know I was fond of the woman--very fond, at one time--so was she of me, but it had gone on long enough. Sterndale has managed the business for me. I don’t know that I should have had enough nerve to do it for myself. But it’s all happily ended by this time, and I’m going to give up such frivolities for the future!’ ‘Of course, of course--naturally,’ said his friend. But when Lord Ilfracombe met his wife in the sanctity of their state-cabin, he alluded again to the subject of Jack Portland. ‘It’s the most extraordinary thing in the world to me, Nora,’ he commenced, ‘that Jack has not told me that he met you in Malta. For I have had two letters from him since our marriage.’ ‘Most likely he did not remember my name,’ replied Nora; ‘I was hardly out of the nursery then, remember!’ ‘What! at eighteen? Nonsense! You are not a woman for a man to see and forget. He has never said that he met your father. And that you should have never spoken his name, beats me altogether.’ ‘Why, you never mentioned him yourself till to-day,’ she retorted. ‘Considering he is such an intimate friend of yours, is that not more wonderful than the other?’ ‘Oh, I know such lots of men!’ ‘So do I,’ said Nora. She was sitting on the side of the bed as she spoke, nursing her knees and looking her husband straight in the face. ‘You talk like a fool,’ she continued hotly. ‘As if a girl could remember every man she has met! And you have not mentioned people much nearer home to me. Who is Miss Llewellyn?’ The question took Ilfracombe so completely by surprise, that he did not know what to say. ‘Miss Llewellyn!’ he stammered. ‘Who has ever said anything to you about Miss Llewellyn?’ ‘I heard you mention her name this evening to Mr Castelton.’ ‘Indeed! what sharp ears you must have!’ ‘Perhaps, but that is no answer to my question. Who is she?’ ‘Well, if you must know, she is, or rather was, my housekeeper. An interesting discovery, isn’t it?’ ‘Cela depend! And is she to be our housekeeper now?’ ‘Certainly not! That is to say, she has gone home--her mother was sick and wanted her--’ The countess got off the bed, and going up to her husband, laid her hand upon his mouth,-- ‘There, there, that will do,’ she said quietly; ‘don’t soil your soul any more on my account, for it is a matter of the most perfect indifference to me who she was or why she went. There are plenty more housekeepers to be procured, I suppose, in England. But don’t forget what I told you in Malta about the pot that called the kettle black, _voila tout_!’