“Last night, my lady. I delivered Sir Geoffrey’s message. I would not hurt you or distress you for the world——” “Do you think I don’t know that?” “Master Lionel means to marry Miss Joyce.” “Ah!” Their eyes met; she smiled faintly. “I seek his happiness.” “The happiness you have always sought for others, my lady, is reflected on your face now.” She said tranquilly: “And on yours, my old friend.” She paused, still smiling at him. Then, holding up her head, she spoke the words which he desired to hear above all others: “My son has chosen the right wife.” The effect of them upon Fishpingle was startling and disconcerting. Colour flowed into his cheeks; his eyes sparkled; his voice broke with emotion. “You—you say that. And I doubted. I dared to doubt. May God forgive me!” “My sympathies are with Alfred, Lionel, and you.” “Master Lionel let you tell me that. How good of him!” Her tones deepened: “But I know my husband. I know his strength and his weakness. He will not surrender to any arguments or entreaties of mine, although he loves me dearly. He is saturated with a sense of his own undivided responsibilities. He believes that he is acting according to his lights. He believes that I think as he does. He believes, poor dear fellow! that at this moment I am _pulverising_ you.” Fishpingle gasped out: “You are.” “What can you mean, Ben?” He burst into vehement speech, and again she was oddly reminded of Sir Geoffrey, who would sit silent, impassive, if he chanced to be deeply moved, and then suddenly explode. “At the back of my mind, at the bottom of my heart, I have always feared that this sad day might dawn. And I knew what bitter strife would mean to you, who have always loved peace. It does _pulverise_ me that you should be brought into this misery.” He covered his face with his hands. Lady Pomfret gave him time. Presently she went on: “If I obey Sir Geoffrey literally, I am to try to make you see yourself as I see you.” He looked up, puzzled at the delicate irony of her tone. She faltered a little. “It’s not an easy task, Ben, for a woman who loves her husband, a woman who—who shrinks from exalting another man at his expense.” “Don’t attempt it, my lady!” “Ah! But I must. I see you so clearly this morning. I see you, not as you sit there, worn and sad, but as I saw you first when Sir Geoffrey came courting me. What a handsome fellow you were, Ben, in those far off days.” Unconsciously, Fishpingle sat more upright. He lifted his head. For a moment youth came back to him. Lady Pomfret continued: “Even then I used to wonder at your devotion to Sir Geoffrey. I have gone on wondering ever since, although custom tempered that wonder. It amazed me, I remember, that you didn’t marry. It amazes me still.” As he remained silent, avoiding her eyes, she went on gently: “I understand. There must have been somebody, some girl whom you cared for deeply, and who didn’t return your love.” “Yes.”