"Don't they say that married women always give up their accomplishments? Emmeline is a married woman, therefore Emmeline will give up her music. How soon do you suppose she will begin?" Half a page more of Bertie's random scribble brought him to a conclusion, but it was not a final one, for he had added a couple of lines: "P.S. Persuade J. to shake herself free of Brenthill as soon as possible: there can be no need for her to work now, thank God! You know it has always been my day-dream and hope to provide for her. You must come and see us too. Come soon, before we go to my father-in-law's. Good-bye: we are off.--P.S. No. 2. No, we are not. E. has forgotten her parasol, and is gone for it. How is Lydia? What did she say when she heard the news? I suppose by this time everybody knows it." Percival's lip curved with scorn and disgust as he refolded the letter, in which Emmeline, Judith and Lydia jostled each other as they might have done in a bad dream. Then he looked up, being suddenly aware of eyes that were fixed upon him. Miss Bryant stood in the doorway: "You've heard from _him_, Mr. Thorne?" Percival did not choose to answer as if he were in Miss Bryant's secrets and knew as a matter of course that "_him_" meant Lisle. Neither did he choose to say that he did not know who was intended by the energetic pronoun. He looked back at Lydia politely and inquiringly, as if he awaited further information before he could be expected to reply. "Oh, you know," said Lydia scornfully. "You have heard from Mr. Bertie Lisle?" "Yes," Percival acquiesced gravely. "Well?" "Well--what, Miss Bryant?" "What does he say?" Lydia demanded; and when Thorne arched his brows, "Oh, you needn't look as if you thought it wasn't my business. I've a right to ask after him, at any rate, for old acquaintance' sake." "I'm sorry to hear you take so much interest in him," he rejoined. "Why? You may keep your sorrow for your own affairs: I'll manage mine. I can take very good care of myself, I assure you, and I won't trouble you to be sorry for me," said Lydia shortly. I do not think she had ever spoken to a young man before and been unconscious that it _was_ a young man to whom she spoke. But she was utterly heedless of Percival as she questioned him, and he perceived it, and preferred this angry mood. "Can't you tell me anything about him?" said the girl. "Is he well--happy?" "He writes in the best of spirits." Lydia advanced a step or two: "And is it all true what they are saying? He has married this young lady?" "Yes, he has married her." "And do you suppose he cares for her?" said Lydia slowly. Thome's brows went up again: "Really, Miss Bryant--" "Because if he does, he has told lies enough: that's all." ("And he isn't a miracle of honor if he doesn't," said Percival.)