At the other Tottenham’s, things were settling down after the Entertainment, and happily the result had been so gratifying and successful that all the feuds and searching of hearts had calmed down. The supper had been “beautiful,” the guests gracious, the enjoyment almost perfect. Thereafter, to his dying day, Mr. Robinson was able to quote what Her Grace the Duchess of Middlemarch had said to him on the subject of his daughter’s performance, and the Duchess’s joke became a kind of capital for the establishment, always ready to be drawn upon. No other establishment had before offered a subject of witty remark (though Her Grace, good soul, was totally unaware of having been witty) to a Duchess--no other young ladies and gentlemen attached to a house of business had ever hobbed and nobbed with the great people in society. The individuals who had sent in resignations were too glad to be allowed to forget them, and Mr. Tottenham was in the highest feather, and felt his scheme to have prospered beyond his highest hopes. “There is nothing so humanizing as social intercourse,” he said. “I don’t say my people are any great things, and we all know that society, as represented by Her Grace of Middlemarch, is not overwhelmingly witty or agreeable--eh, Earnshaw? But somehow, in the clash of the two extremes, something is struck out--a spark that you could not have otherwise--a really improving influence. I have always thought so; and, thank heaven, I have lived to carry out my theory.” “At the cost of very hard work, and much annoyance,” said Edgar. “Oh! nothing--nothing, Earnshaw--mere bagatelles. I was tired, and had lost my temper--very wrong, but I suppose it will happen sometimes; and not being perfect myself, how am I to expect my people to be perfect?” said the philanthropist. “Never mind these little matters. The pother has blown over, and the good remains. By the way, Miss Lockwood is asking for you, Earnshaw--have you cleared up that business of hers? She’s in a bad way, poor creature! She would expose herself with bare arms and shoulders, till I sent her an opera-cloak, at a great sacrifice, from Robinson’s department, to cover her up; and she’s caught more cold. Go and see her, there’s a good fellow; she’s always asking for you.” Miss Lockwood was in the ladies’ sitting-room, where Edgar had seen her before, wrapped in the warm red opera-cloak which Mr. Tottenham had sent her, and seated by the fire. Her cheeks were more hollow than ever, her eyes full of feverish brightness. “Look here,” she said, when Edgar entered, “I don’t want you any longer. You’ve got it in your head I’m in a consumption, and you are keeping my papers back, thinking I’m going to die. I ain’t going to die--no such intention--and I’ll trouble you either to go on directly and get me my rights, or give me back all my papers, and I’ll look after them myself.”