‘There is nothing settled,’ she said--and they stood there for a minute facing each other, his countenance full of anxiety and distrust, hers very firm and pale, almost blank even with determined no meaning. She smiled. She would not let him think she was even disconcerted by his questions. And the Rector was baffled by this firmness. He turned away sighing, and wringing his hands. ‘God bless my soul!’ he said. For it was no use questioning Anne any further--that, at least, was very clear. But as he went away, he came across Heathcote Mountford who was walking about in the now abandoned hall like a handsome discontented ghost. ‘I am glad to see that you take a great interest in your cousins,’ the Rector said, with a conciliatory smile. He did not feel very friendly, to tell the truth, towards Heathcote Mountford, feeling that his existence was a kind of wrong to Anne and Rose; but yet he was the new lord of the manor, and this is a thing which the spiritual head of a parish is bound to remember, whatever his personal feelings may be. Even in this point of view, however, Heathcote was unsatisfactory--for a poor lord of the manor in the best of circumstances is a trial to a rector, especially one who has been used to a well-to-do squire with liberal ways. ‘My interest is not of much use,’ Heathcote said, ‘for you see, though I have protested, they are going away.’ Just then Mr. Loseby’s phaeton drew up at the door, and he himself got out, enveloped with greatcoats and mufflers from head to foot. He was continually coming and going, with an almost restless interest in everything that happened at Mount. ‘It is the very best thing they can do,’ he said. ‘Change of scene: it is the remedy for all trouble now-a-days. They have never seen anything, poor ladies; they have been buried in the country all their lives. And Anne, of course, will like to be in town. That anyone can see with half an eye.’ Here the Rector found another means, if not of satisfying his anxious curiosity, at least of sharing it with some one. He put his arm into Mr. Loseby’s and led him away to the big window. The idea of at least opening his heart to another friend of the family did him good. ‘Do you know,’ he said, with a gasp of excitement, ‘I have been questioning Anne, and she tells me there is nothing settled--nothing settled! I could not believe my ears.’ ‘My dear fellow,’ said Mr. Loseby, who was not reverential, ‘what could be settled? A young couple with not a penny between them----’ ‘We should not have thought of that, Loseby, in my young days.’ ‘We were fools in our young days,’ said the lawyer, with a laugh--‘inexperienced idiots. That’s not the case now. They all know everything that can happen, and calculate the eventualities like a parcel of old women. No, no, the day of imprudent matches is over. Of course there is nothing settled. I never expected it for my part----’