Sir Charles was irritated, but nothing more. Lady Bassett, with a woman's natural shrinking from publicity, felt it more deeply. She would have given thousands of her own money to keep the matter out of court. But her very terror of Richard Bassett restrained her. She was always thinking about him, and had convinced herself he was the ablest villain in the wide world; and she thought to herself, “If, with his small means, he annoys Charles so, what would he do if I were to enrich him? He would crush us.” As the trial drew near she began to hover about Sir Charles in his study, like an anxious hen. The maternal yearnings were awakened in her by marriage, and she had no child; so her Charles in trouble was husband and child. Sometimes she would come in and just kiss his forehead, and run out again, casting back a celestial look of love at the door, and, though it was her husband she had kissed, she blushed divinely. At last one day she crept in and said, very timidly, “Charles dear, the anonymous letter--is not that an excuse for libeling him--as they call telling the truth?” “Why, of course it is. Have you got it?” “Dearest, the brave lady took it away.” “The brave lady! Who is that?” “Why, the lady that came with Mr. Oldfield and pleaded your cause with papa--oh, so eloquently! Sometimes when I think of it now I feel almost jealous. Who is she?” “From what you have always told me, I think it was the Sister of Charity who nursed me.” “You silly thing, she was no Sister of Charity; that was only put on. Charles, tell me the truth. What does it matter _now?_ It was some lady who loved you.” “Loved me, and set her wits to work to marry me to you?” “Women's love is so disinterested--sometimes.” “No, no; she told me she was a sister of--, and no doubt that is the truth.” “A sister of whom?” “No matter: don't remind me of the past; it is odious to me; and, on second thoughts, rather than stir up all that mud, it would be better not to use the anonymous letter, even if you could get it again.” Lady Bassett begged him to take advice on that; meantime she would try to get the letter, and also the evidence that Richard Bassett wrote it. “I see no harm in that,” said Sir Charles; “only confine your communication to Mr. Oldfield. I will not have you speaking or writing to a woman I don't know: and the more I think of her conduct the less I understand it.” “There are people who do good by stealth,” suggested Bella timidly. “Fiddledeedee!” replied Sir Charles; “you are a goose--I mean an angel.” Lady Bassett complied with the letter, but, goose or not, evaded the spirit of Sir Charles's command with considerable dexterity.