Lydia was so over-excited, so exhausted with the agitations of the night and the excitements of the morning, that she burst out crying while he was speaking. The Vice-Consul was confounded; but he was never more in his element than when administering consolation. He took her gently by the hand, and put her back into the seat from which she had risen. “My dear young lady,” he said, soothingly, “I am grieved to see you distressed. What is the matter? In what are you wrong?” Then he began to understand dimly that Lydia’s distress must be somehow connected with his own. He grew very grave, though he still held her hand with fatherly kindness. “If you have come to tell Rita anything unpleasant about her husband,” he said, “I am very, very sorry you should have thought it right to do so, Miss Joscelyn. I have heard it all from Lady Brotherton. I don’t deny that it has wounded me; but, after all, my daughter did not marry her husband for his relations, but for himself. He is the just the same in himself as he has been these nine, ten years. To tell me would have been right enough, but why vex Rita? She need never know anything about it. Neither, so far as I am concerned, is there any need to reproach Harry with it. I do not even intend to let him know that I am acquainted with the condition of his family. Let me persuade you, Miss Joscelyn--you ought to be of gentle mind, so young, and pretty, and gentle-looking as you are--to pretend this is only a common call, and not to say anything to Rita, or to him either, poor fellow. Rita is a girl of a high spirit; she might not forgive her husband. Come, come, let me take you back to Lady Brotherton; and forget that you have ever seen young Oliver, or his wife, or myself, or any one here.” “Mr. Bonamy, you are very, very kind. We don’t say much in the north country, but I think I love you,” Lydia said. A smile came over his face; even in such circumstances the Vice-Consul could not help being pleased. “This is very sweet and very pleasant, and I have no doubt the feeling would soon be mutual--if you will do what I ask you, what I beg of you. Let these young people alone. Why should you interfere with them? I hope the Olivers are decent people, at least, if nothing more.” “The Olivers,” cried Lydia, hotly, “are poor folk; they are nobody; they have nothing to do with it. I will never more submit to call Harry by that name. I couldn’t do it even at first, though I couldn’t tell why.” “Now what does this mean?” said Mr. Bonamy, quickly. “What does this mean? Is there some further story to be told? God bless my soul! what is it, young lady? You are not the sort of person to interfere and make mischief. If there was anything disagreeable to be told, why not send for her father and tell it to me?”