He did not tell her that his coming home a little circumscribed their resources, and that the month in town which they were so anxious he should have, which in other circumstances he would have enjoyed so much, but which now he cared nothing for, nor for anything, was the reason why they had stopped half-way on their usual summer journey to England. Dear old people, they had done it for him--this was what he thought to himself, though he did not say it--for him, for whom nobody could now do anything! He did not say much, but as he looked in Frances’ sympathetic eyes, he felt that, without saying a word to her, she must understand it all. Lady Markham made no remark about their visitor until after they had done their usual afternoon’s “work,” as it was her habit to call it--their round of calls, to which she went in an exact succession, saying lightly, as she cut short each visit, that she could stay no longer, as she had so much to do. There was always a shop or two to go to, in addition to the calls, and almost always some benevolent errand--some Home to visit, some hospital to call at, something about the work of poor ladies, or the salvation of poor girls,--all these were included along with the calls in the afternoon’s work. And it was not till they had returned home and were seated together at tea, refreshing themselves after their labours, that she mentioned young Gaunt. She then said, after a minute’s silence, suddenly, as if the subject had been long in her mind, “I wish Markham had let that young man alone; I wish he had left him to you and me.” Frances started a little, and felt, with great self-indignation and distress, that she blushed--though why, she could not tell. She looked up, wondering, and said, “Markham! I thought it was so very kind.” “Yes, my dear; I believe he means to be kind.” “Oh, I am sure he does; for he could have no interest in George Gaunt--not for himself. I thought it was perhaps for my sake, because he was--because he was the son of--such a friend.” “Were they so good to you, Frances? And no doubt to Con too.” “I am sure of it, mamma.” “Poor people,” said Lady Markham; “and this is the reward they get. Con has been experimenting on that poor boy. What do I mean by experimenting? You know well enough what I mean, Frances. I suppose he was the only man at hand, and she has been amusing herself. He has been dangling about her constantly, I have no doubt, and she has made him believe that she liked it as well as he did. And then he has made a declaration, and there has been a scene. I am sorry to say I need no evidence in this case: I know all about it. And now, Markham! Poor people, I say: it would have been well for them if they had never seen one of our race.” “Mamma!” cried Frances, with a little indignation, “I feel sure you are misjudging Constance. Why should she do anything so cruel? Papa used to say that one must have a motive.”