His remarks about Craven had interested her because she was interested in Craven, but it was not quite clear to her why Braybrooke should suddenly concentrate on the young man’s future, nor why he should, with so much precaution, try to get at her opinion on the question of Craven’s marriage. When Braybrooke had first spoken to her of Craven he had not implied that he and Craven were specially intimate, or that he was deeply interested in Craven’s concerns or prospects. He had merely told her that Craven was a clever and promising “boy,” with an interesting mind and a nice nature, who had a great desire to meet her. And she had good-naturedly said that Craven might call. It had all been very casual. But Braybrooke’s manner had now completely changed. He seemed to think he was almost responsible for the young man. There had even been something furtive in his demeanour when speaking about Craven to her, and when she had forced him to explain and to say what was in his mind, for a moment he had been almost confused. What had it to do with her whether Craven married Beryl Van Tuyn or did not marry her? Although she had been interested when Braybrooke had spoken of Craven’s cleverness and energy, of his good prospects in his career, and of the appreciation of Eric Learington--a man not given to undue praises--she had been secretly irritated when he had come to the question of Beryl Van Tuyn and the importance of Craven’s marrying well. Why should he marry at all? And if he must, why Beryl Van Tuyn? Lady Sellingworth hated the thought of that marriage and the idea that Braybrooke was probably intent on trying to bring it about, or at any rate was considering whether he should make the endeavour, roused in her resentment against him. “Tiresome old man!” she said to herself, as she stood by the fire. “Why won’t he let things alone? What business is it of his?” And then she felt as if Braybrooke were meditating a stroke against her, and had practically asked her to help him in delivering the blow. She felt that definitely. And immediately she had felt it she was startled, and the strong sensation of being near to danger took hold of her. In all the ten years which had passed since the theft of her jewels she had never once deliberately stretched out her hands to happiness. Palliatives she had made the most of; compensations she had been thankful for. She had been very patient, and considering what she had been, very humble. But she had definitely given up the thought of ever knowing again any intimate personal happiness. That book was closed. In ten years she had never once tried to open it. And now, suddenly, without even being definitely conscious of what she was doing, she had laid her hands on it as if--The change in her, the abrupt and dangerous change, had surely come about two nights ago. And she felt now that something peculiar in Craven, rather than something unusual in herself, had caused it.