“Your poor father,” Mr Durant went on in his turn, “has a great deal of self-command, Frances; he has a great deal of self-control. In some ways, that is an excellent quality, but it may be carried too far. I wish very much he would allow me to come and have a talk with him--not as a clergyman, but just in a friendly way.” “I am quite sure you may come and talk with him as much as you like,” said Frances, astonished; “or if you want very much to see him, he will come to you.” “Oh, I should not take it upon me to ask that--in the meantime,” Mr Durant said. The girl stared a little, but asked no further questions. There was something among them which she did not understand--a look of curiosity, an air of meaning more than their words said. The Durants were always a little apt to be didactic, as became a clergyman’s family; but Tasie was generally a safe refuge. Frances turned to her with a little sigh of perplexity, hoping to escape further question. “Was the Sunday-school as large last Sunday, Tasie?” she said. “Oh, Frances, no! Such a disappointment! There were only four! Isn’t it a pity? But you see the little Mannerings have all gone away. Such sweet children! and the little one of all has such a voice. They are perhaps coming back for Easter, if they don’t stay at Rome; and if so, I think we must put little Herbert in a white surplice--he will look like an angel--and have a real anthem with a soprano solo, for once.” “I doubt if they will all come back,” said Mr Durant. “Mr Mannering himself indeed, I don’t doubt, _on business_; but as for the family, you must not flatter yourself, Tasie.” “_She_ liked the place,” said his wife; “and very likely she would think it her duty, if anything is to come of it, you know.” “Be careful,” said the clergyman, with a glance aside, which Frances would have been dull indeed not to have perceived was directed at herself. “Don’t say anything that may be premature.” Frances was brave in her way. She felt, with a little rising excitement, that her friends were bursting with some piece of knowledge which they were longing to communicate. It roused in her an impatience and reluctance mingled with keen curiosity. She would not hear it, and yet was breathless with impatience to know what it was. “Mr Mannering?” she said, deliberately--“that was the gentleman that knew papa.” “You saw him, then?” cried Mrs Durant. There was something like a faint disappointment in her tone. “He was one of papa’s early friends,” said Frances, with a little emphasis. “I saw him twice. He and his wife both; they seemed kind people.” Mr Durant and his wife looked at each other, and even Tasie stared over her teacups. “Oh, very kind people, my dear; I don’t think you could do better than have full confidence in them,” Mrs Durant said.