"Oh, dear Arnold, what is the matter? You haven't been vexing Henrietta? But you never vex any body, you are so good. Dear Henrietta, are we really to go back to our own house at Avonside? Well, I don't mind. It is a pretty house, far more cheerful than the Lodge; and our tenants are just leaving, and they have kept the furniture in the best of order--the nice furniture that dear Arnold gave us, you know. Even if he does want us to leave the Lodge, it is quite natural. I always said so. And we shall only be a mile away, and can have the children to spend long days with us, and--" Simple Aunt Maria, in her hasty jumping at conclusions, had effected more than she thought of--more harm and more good. "I assure you, Maria," said Dr. Grey with a look of sudden relief, which he tried hard--good man!--to conceal, "it never was my intention to suggest your leaving but since you have suggested it--" "I will go," interrupted Miss Gascoigne. "Say not another word; we will go. I will not stay to be insulted here; I will return to my own house--my own poor humble cottage, where at least I can live independent and at peace--yes, Dr. Grey, I will, however you may try to prevent me." "I do not prevent you. On the contrary, I consider it would be an excellent plan, and you have my full consent to execute it whenever you choose." This quiet taking of her at her word--this brief, determined, and masculine manner of settling what she had no intention of doing unless driven to it through a series of feminine arguments, contentions, and storms, was quite too much for Miss Gascoigne. "Go back to Avonside Cottage! Shut myself up in that poor miserable hole--" "Oh, Henrietta!" expostulated Aunt Maria, "when it is so nicely furnished--with the pretty little green-house that dear Arnold built for us too!" "Don't tell me of green-houses! I say it is only a hole. And I to settle down in it--to exile myself from Avonsbridge society, that Mrs. Grey may rule here, and boast that she has driven me out of the field--me, the last living relative of your dear lost wife, to say nothing of poor Maria, your excellent sister to whom you owe so much--" "Oh, Henrietta!" pleaded Miss Grey once more. "Never mind her, dear, dear Arnold." Dr. Grey looked terribly hurt, but he and Aunt Maria exchanged one glance and one long hand-clasp. Whatever debt there was between the brother and sister, love had long since canceled it all. "Pacify her, Maria--you know you can. Make her think better of all this nonsense. My wife and my sisters could never be rivals; it is ridiculous to suppose such a thing. But, indeed, I believe we should all be much better friends if you were in your own house at Avonside." "I think so, too," whispered Aunt Maria. "I have thought so ever so long." "Then it is settled," replied Dr. Grey, in the mild way in which he did sometimes settle things, and after which you might just as well attempt to move him as to move the foundations of St. Bede's.