Saymore made a bow which would have done credit to a courtier. ‘There’s a many, madam,’ he replied, ‘as has been fools like me.’ He did not condescend to justify himself to Mrs. Mountford, but went out without further explanation. He belonged to the other side of the house; not that he was not perfectly civil to his master’s second wife--but she was always ‘the new mistress’ to Saymore, though she had reigned at Mount for nearly twenty years. ‘What does he mean, mamma?’ cried Rose, with eager curiosity. She was fond of gossip, about county people if possible, but, if not, about village people, or the servants in the house, it did not matter. Her eyes shone with amazement and excitement. ‘Is it old Worth? who is it? What fun to have a wedding in the house!’ ‘He is an old fool,’ said Mrs. Mountford, putting the wools out of her arm and placing herself in the most comfortable chair. ‘Give me a cup of tea, Rose. I have been standing in the corridor till I’m quite tired, and before that with papa.’ ‘You were not standing when you were with papa?’ ‘Well, yes, part of the time; he has a way--Anne has it too, it is very tiresome--of keeping the most important thing he has to say till the last moment. Just when you have got up and got to the door, and think you are free, then he tells you. It is very tiresome--Anne is just the same--in many things she is exceedingly like papa.’ ‘Then he told you something important?’ cried Rose, easily diverted from the first subject. ‘Are we to go to Brighton? What is going to happen? I told Anne you would have something to tell us when we heard you had been sitting with papa.’ ‘Of course we consult over things when we get a quiet hour together,’ Mrs. Mountford said; and then she made a pause. Even Anne felt her heart beat. It seemed natural that her own affairs should have been the subject of this conference; for what was there in the family that was half so interesting as Anne’s affairs? A little colour came to her face, then fled again, leaving her more pale than usual. ‘If it was about me, I would rather not have my affairs talked over,’ she said. ‘My dear Anne,’ said Mrs. Mountford, ‘try not to get into the way of thinking that everything that is interesting in the family must come from you; this is a sort of way that girls get when they begin to think of love and such nonsense; but I should have expected more sense from you.’ Love and such nonsense! Anne’s countenance became crimson. Was this the way to characterise that serious, almost solemn, mystery which had taken possession of her life? And then the girl, in spite of herself, laughed. She felt herself suddenly placed beside old Saymore in his grotesque sentiment, and between scorn and disgust and unwilling amusement words failed her; then the others laughed, which made Anne more angry still.