‘Papa is certainly very good and contented,’ replied her sister, but she sighed as she said it. ‘I have often wondered that he does not more regret the scenes he has been accustomed to.’ ‘My wonder is that he ever left them,’ I remarked. ‘Why he left England in the first instance to bury himself abroad, and the Court of Prussia, where I understand he was such a prime favourite, in the second.’ ‘Because he is so good!’ cried Ange, determinately. ‘He had his own reasons for doing so, I have no doubt,’ added Tessie, quietly, ‘but he has never told them to us.’ ‘Well, I am surprised to think he can prefer St. Pucelle, and what one may call the “scratch” congregation he musters here, to the life he has been accustomed to. Cards and gossip must be sorry exchanges for the gaiety, intellect, and society that compose a Court circle. Besides, I hate cards.’ I had made up my mind to say something more about the cards before long. ‘They appear to me very uninteresting if played for love, and they are certainly very dangerous when played for money.’ ‘Do you think papa would do anything that is dangerous?’ exclaimed Ange, firing up in a moment. ‘Perhaps not, but what is safe for your father may be dangerous for others; such a boy as young Thrale, for instance.’ ‘Ah! if he went playing with anybody—yes! but that is just a part of papa’s goodness. He will do what he does not care for himself, to oblige another person. I am sure Arthur Thrale’s company is a great bore to him, but he will never tell him so, if he can keep him out of harm.’ ‘Oh, I see!’ I replied, and said no more. Ange took my words for what they seemed to be, but when I bent down to kiss Tessie’s face, I found it wet with tears. ‘If you think it wrong for young Thrale to come here, tell him of it,’ she whispered, ‘for I cannot.’ I did not answer her in words, but I kissed her a second time and squeezed her hand in acquiescence, and she understood what I meant. I did not intend to speak to Mr. Thrale, of whom I knew too little to be entitled to take any liberty with, but I thought that, if an opportunity occurred, I should be able to muster up courage to mention the subject to the Baron. As I lay down that night, the thought of dear old Charlie Sandilands came into my head, and I felt so glad to think that I had not known the state of my heart when he asked me to be his wife. Because, if I had, I might, in the lonely position in which he found me, have been tempted to resign all further trouble by accepting his offer. So many women have been drawn into marriage for want of money, or companionship, or protection. And I knew now, even better than I did then, that I never could have been even decently contented as Charlie Sandiland’s wife. [Illustration: [Fleuron]] CHAPTER VI. TWO SERPENTS.