Verna rushed forward as he opened the door. Already her better sense had perceived the folly of her sister’s words. “Mr. Fanshawe, Matilda is always ridiculous!” she cried, breathless; “but we will not yield a step till we are forced--not a step!” “So be it!” said Fanshawe; “though I hope your advisers will counsel you less foolishly. At all events, I have said what I had to say.” “Forget Matilda’s nonsense, at least!” cried the sister. Matilda had thrown herself back upon her sofa, where the unfortunate Johnnie was kneeling by her, soothing her. “But I will not give up, I cannot give up!” she said passionately, under her breath, clasping her hands. She was not aware she had said it; her face, which was very pale, took a strange character of force and high purpose,--yes, of high purpose, such as it was. She did not wish to defraud anyone; but she was struggling for bare life; she followed Fanshawe out, going with him to the door, with rising uneasiness--the more generous part of her character waking with her better judgment. “All that about Miss Heriot,” she said, gasping, “was ridiculous; and Mr. Fanshawe, I am sure she did not mean to be rude to you; I never meant to be rude to you; it was only temper and surprise. And oh, when a blow like this is coming, it seems so much easier when you can feel it is somebody’s fault!” “But you are much too sensible to believe so?” said Fanshawe, “who could--or would--attempt to deceive you in such a matter? Do you think an invention of this kind could ever stand the eye of day?” “It is--it must be an invention!” cried Verna; and then, poor soul, she had recourse to that expedient which women employ by instinct, and which, did they but know it, always ruins their cause, though it may gain them a momentary triumph. She appealed to her companion, as if that could serve her. “Oh, Mr. Fanshawe,” she said, “we should do well if we were but left alone. The place would soon be got into order. I have given up all my plans about the house. I should see that Tommy was brought up as he ought to be. Why cannot they let us alone?” “Do you think it possible,” he said, with some impatience, “that people like the Heriots are framing a lie in order to harm you?” She looked at him with dilating eyes, in which the tears gradually rose. She had no understanding of the question. It came natural to her to think that somebody must have done it. “I would try to do what they wished,” she faltered, looking at him with a pathetic desire to understand. “I should be very glad to take their advice--I would do anything--” “Miss Bassett,” said Fanshawe; “supposing it could affect the question in any way--which it could not--but supposing, for the sake of argument, that these good resolutions of yours could affect the question; how long will you be able to do anything if this piece of news Mr. Hepburn has told me is true?”