The day had gone on to its close, and Edina had found no opportunity of speaking to Frank alone. The secret of which she had unexpectedly gained cognizance that morning was troubling her mind. To be a party to it, and to keep that fact from Frank, was impossible to Edina. Tell him she must: and the sooner the better. After tea, he and the doctor had sat persistently talking together until dusk, when Frank had to go out to visit a fever-patient in Bleak Row. Running upstairs to change his coat, Edina had thought the opportunity had come, and followed him to his chamber. She went in after his hearty response to her knock. Frank, quick in all his movements, already had his coat off, and was taking the old one from the peg where it hung. Edina sat down by the dressing-table. "Frank," she said, in low tones--and she disliked very much indeed to have to say it, "I chanced to go into the church this morning soon after eight o'clock. I--I saw you there." "_Did_ you?" cried Frank, coming to a pause with his coat half on. "And--did you see anything else, Edina?" "I believe I saw all there was to see, Frank. I saw you standing with Margaret St. Clare at the altar-rails, and Mr. Backup marrying you. "Well, I never!" cried Frank, with all the amazing ease and equanimity he might have maintained had she said she saw him looking on at a christening. "Were you surprised, Edina?" "Surprised, and a great deal more, Frank. Shocked. Grieved." "I say, though, what took you to the church at that early hour, Edina?" "Chance, it may be said. Though I am one of those, you know, who do not believe that such a thing as chance exists. I went after Mrs. Trim, found her house shut up, and the thought she might be in the church, cleaning. Oh, Frank, how could you do anything so desperately imprudent?" "Well, I hardly know. Don't scold me, Edina." "I have no right to scold you," she answered. "And scolding would be of no use now the thing is done. Nevertheless, I must tell you what a very wrong step it was to take; lamentably imprudent: and I think you must, yourself, know that it was so. I could never have believed it of Margaret St. Clare." "Do not blame Daisy, Edina. I persuaded her to take it. Mrs. St. Clare has been talking of marching her off abroad; and we wanted, you see, to secure ourselves against separation." "And what are you going to do, Frank?" "Oh, nothing," said easy Frank. "Daisy's gone back to The Mount, and I am here as usual. As soon as I can make a home for her, I shall take her away." "Make a home where?" "In some place where there's a likelihood of a good practice. London, I dare say." "But how are you to live? A good practice does not spring up in a night, like a mushroom."