Mr. Beresford gave a little snort at this of absolute dissatisfaction. ‘I don’t like changes of any kind,’ he said; ‘when we have got to be tolerably well in this dismal world, why not be content with it, and stop there! _Le mieux est l’ennemi du bien._ How true that is! and yet what can be better than well? I dislike changes, and this almost more than any other. I foresee it will bring me a thousand troubles--not to you, I hope,’ he said, his voice slightly faltering; ‘it would be unbearable indeed if it brought any trouble to you.’ ‘Cara cannot bring any trouble to me,’ she said brightly; ‘of that I am sure enough: you are making a ghost of the dearest child. By-and-by you will see how sweet she is and how good.’ ‘All girls have a way of being sweet and good,’ he said cynically, which was a mood quite uncongenial to him and out of his way. ‘That is not like you,’ said Mrs. Meredith. He knew it was not. The thought had passed through his own mind that the saying was ungenerous and unworthy of him, and unworthy of utterance in her presence. What could any man be worth who could utter one of those foolish stock taunts against women in any stage of life, before a woman who was to him the queen of friends, the essence of everything consolatory and sweet. ‘You are always right,’ he replied hastily, ‘and I am wrong, as a matter of course. I am out of sorts. I had but just caught hold of life again and found it practicable, and here seems something that may unsettle all; but I am wrong, it is almost certain, and you must be right.’ ‘That is a delightful sentiment--for me; but I am sure of my ground about Cara. Oh, quite sure!’ she said, ‘as sure--as I am of my own boys.’