Mr. Burmistone slipped his hands in his pockets, and jingled his keys slightly, as he did once before in an earlier part of this narrative. "Ah! from his," he repeated. "Not from hers. His point of view would differ from hers--naturally." Barold flashed a little, and took his cigar from his mouth to knock off the ashes. "A man is not necessarily a snob," he said, "because he is cool enough not to lose his head where a woman is concerned. You can't marry a woman who will make mistakes, and attract universal attention by her conduct." "Has it struck you that Octavia Bassett would?" inquired Burmistone. "She would do as she chose," said Barold petulantly. "She would do things which were unusual; but I was not referring to her in particular. Why should I?" "Ah!" said Burmistone. "I only thought of her because it did not strike me that one would ever feel she had exactly blundered. She is not easily embarrassed. There is a _sang-froid_ about her which carries things off." "Ah!" deigned Barold: "she has _sang-froid_ enough and to spare." He was silent for some time afterward, and sat smoking later than usual. When he was about to leave the room for the night, he made an announcement for which his host was not altogether prepared. "When the _fête_ is over, my dear fellow," he said, "I must go back to London, and I shall be deucedly sorry to do it." "Look here!" said Burmistone, "that's a new idea, isn't it?" "No, an old one; but I have been putting the thing off from day to day. By Jove! I did not think it likely that I should put it off, the day I landed here." And he laughed rather uneasily. CHAPTER XXIII. "MAY I GO?" The very day after this, Octavia opened the fourth trunk. She had had it brought down from the garret, when there came a summons on the door, and Lucia Gaston appeared. Lucia was very pale; and her large, soft eyes wore a decidedly frightened look. She seemed to have walked fast, and was out of breath. Evidently something had happened. "Octavia," she said, "Mr. Dugald Binnie is at Oldclough." "Who is he?" "He is my grand-uncle," explained Lucia tremulously. "He has a great deal of money. Grandmamma"--She stopped short, and colored, and drew her slight figure up. "I do not quite understand grandmamma, Octavia," she said. "Last night she came to my room to talk to me; and this morning she came again, and--oh!" she broke out indignantly, "how could she speak to me in such a manner!" "What did she say?" inquired Octavia. "She said a great many things," with great spirit. "It took her a long time to say them, and I do not wonder at it. It would have taken me a hundred years, if I had been in her place. I--I was wrong to say I did not understand her: I did--before she had finished." "What did you understand?"