Colonel Dermot spoke heartily, but conscience gave him a prick or two. He had desperately tried to come to closer quarters than Anstice would permit. He knew that as her husband's friend and Ruffie's godfather, she welcomed and liked him, nothing more. She had shown him unmistakably that she wanted no sympathy for herself and no admiration. She was content with ordinary friendship. When the house-party broke up, Anstice felt as if a great burden had been lifted from her shoulders. She was standing on the terrace waving farewell to the last of her guests when Justin joined her. "Well," he said, "it's over. I really think we can congratulate ourselves upon having got through it remarkably well. I'm thankful to be quiet again for a bit." "So am I—devoutly thankful," said Anstice with warmth. "I don't think I could thrive amongst numbers, and yet Mrs. Dermot told me that it is desolation when she is not in a crowd. What a comfort we are not all made alike!" Life slipped back again to its normal routine. Then one evening after dinner Anstice said to her husband: "Do you know some Miss Maybricks by name?" He smiled. "Of course I know them both. As young girls they were great favourites, handsome and go-ahead. They were my seniors as far as age goes, and when I was in my teens, I used to adore the younger—Carrie." "Mr. Bolland has been talking about them. He wants me to go and see one of them. How can I do it? She has not called upon me." "She doubtless does not know of your existence. Harscale Hall is in the wilds, right amongst the Fells, about twelve miles from us. Why does he want you to know her?" "He was telling me such a sad story about them. The younger had the property left her by her father's will. She was his favourite, and the elder was furious that she should be turned out of her home, and be treated so by her father. She set up house for herself about five miles away, five miles nearer us she is, for she is in Mr. Bolland's parish." "She would be. She took an old farm-house and glorified it, making it into a very comfortable home for herself. They've never spoken to each other or met, I believe, since their father died. A case of North-country pride and resentment." "What terrible people North-country people can be!" said Anstice with feeling. "Mr. Bolland told me that the younger, for want of something better to do in that lonely place, took to betting on horses. For some years she was in money difficulties, and then got into moneylenders' hands, and mortgaged her property heavily. Now the mortgagee is foreclosing, and she will have to turn out. She's in very bad health, and is in great distress, especially as she finds that the elder sister is the mortgagee, and will give her no mercy. She is literally going to turn her out as she was turned out years ago. Isn't it sad? And they're sisters!"