Mrs Durant and Tasie both looked with great admiration at their head and instructor as he thus spoke. “You may be sure Mr Durant says nothing that he is not quite sure of,” said the wife, crushing any possible scepticism on the part of the inquirer; and “Papa knows such a lot,” added Tasie, awed, yet smiling, on her side. “Oh, is that all?” said Mrs Gaunt, greatly subdued. “But then, Lord Markham--calls her his sister, you know.” “The nobility,” said Mr Durant, “are always very scrupulous about relationships; and she _is_ his step-sister. He couldn’t qualify the relationship by calling her so. A common person might do so, but not a man of high breeding, like Lord Markham--that is all.” “I suppose you must be right,” said Mrs Gaunt. “The General said so too. But it does seem very strange to me that of the same woman’s children, and she a lady of title, one should be a lord, and the other have no sort of distinction at all.” They all smiled upon her blandly, every one ready with a new piece of information, and much sympathy for her ignorance, which Mrs Gaunt, seeing that it was she that was likely to be related to Lord Markham, and not any of the Durants, felt that she could not bear; so she jumped up hastily and declared that she must be going, that the General would be waiting for her. “I hope you will come over some evening, and I will ask the Warings, and Tasie must bring her music. I am sure you would like to hear George’s violin. He is getting on so well, with Constance to play his accompaniments;” and before any one could reply to her, Mrs Gaunt had hurried away. It is painful not to have time to get out your retort; and these excellent people turned instinctively upon each other to discharge the unflown arrows. “It is so very easy, with a little trouble, to understand the titles, complimentary and otherwise, of our own nobility,” said Mr Durant, shaking his head. “And such a sign of want of breeding not to understand them,” said his wife. “The Honourable Constance would sound very pretty,” cried Tasie; “it is such a pity.” “Especially, our friend thinks, if it was the Honourable Constance Gaunt.” “That she could never be, my dear,” said the old clergyman mildly. “She might be the Honourable Mrs Gaunt; but Constance, no--not in any case.” “I should like to know why,” Mrs Durant said. Perhaps here the excellent chaplain’s knowledge failed him; or he had become weary of the subject; for he rose and said, “I have really no more time for a matter which does not concern us,” and trotted away. The mother and daughter left alone together, naturally turned to a point more interesting than the claims of Constance to rank. “Do you really think, mamma,” said Tasie--“do you really, really think,--it is silly to be always discussing these sort of questions--but do you believe that Constance Waring actually--means anything?”