Mrs. Meredith did not say anything. She shook her head, but the faint smile on her face remained. There was nothing tragical yet about either one or the other. Mr. Beresford was less calm than usual. He sat down and got up again; he took up books and threw them away; he fidgeted about the room from one point to another. At last even Mrs. Meredith’s composure gave way. She jumped to one of those sudden conclusions which foolish women who are mothers are so apt to think of. It suddenly rushed upon her mind that some accident had happened to Oswald, and that Mr. Beresford had been sent to her to break the news. ‘You are put out,’ she said; ‘something has happened. Oh, tell me--something about the boys? Oswald!’ ‘Nothing of the sort,’ he said. ‘Don’t think it for a moment! The boys are perfectly well, I hope. I was going to ask you an odd sort of question, though,’ he added, with an awkward smile, rushing into the middle of the subject. ‘Did it never occur to you that you would be the better for having someone to help you with the boys?’ Now, there could not have been a more foolish question--for until a very short time back the boys’ father had been in existence--and since then, there had been no time for the widow to take any such step. She looked at him with much surprise. ‘Someone to help me? Whom could I have to help me? Their poor dear father was too far away!’ ‘Ah! I forgot their father,’ said Mr. Beresford, with naïve innocence, and then there was a pause. He did not know how to begin again after that very evident downfall. ‘I mean, however, as a general question,’ he added, ‘what do you think? Should you approve of a woman in your own position--marrying, for instance--for her children’s sake?’ ‘That is a curious question,’ she said, with a little laugh; but the surprise brought the colour into her face. ‘I suppose it would depend on the woman. But I don’t know,’ she added, after a moment, ‘how a woman could put her children into any stranger’s--any _other_ man’s hands.’ ‘Ah, a stranger! perhaps I did not mean a stranger.’ ‘I don’t think you know what you meant,’ she said, with a smile; but there was some terror in her eyes. She thought she knew what was coming. She was like him in her own sentiments, and still more like him in her speculations about himself. She had been brought to believe that he loved and wanted to marry her. And, if it could not be otherwise, she felt that she must consent; but she did not wish it any more than he did. However, while he thought the best policy was to find out what ought to be done at once, she was all for putting off, avoiding the consideration, trusting in something that might turn up. Mr. Beresford, however, had wound himself up to this interview, and was not to be put off.