Mr. Woodhouse had travelled all the way from Shrewsbury to Edinburgh to confer with Mr. Wycherly, and he stayed with Lady Alicia, for the public house at Burnhead was of a very humble order, having no bedroom to offer to the wayfaring stranger. Like many other people, he had fallen under the charm of Miss Esperance, and he not only acquiesced, but positively encouraged Mr. Wycherly in all his plans for the disposal of his property. It is quite possible that he was not sorry to see his other clients of that name disappointed. "They’ve kept him short all these years, when they had no earthly right to, just because he and the old lady are as unworldly as a pair of babies—and now, after all their scheming and saving, the whole of that money will go to benefit her relations," said Mr. Woodhouse to Lady Alicia, with a chuckle. "It’s poetic justice, that’s what I call it." Mr. Woodhouse was standing on the hearthrug warming his coat-tails. He had returned for the night from Remote, and was quite prepared to enjoy a comfortable chat with Lady Alicia and her pretty daughter, Margaret, who were sitting by the fire knitting diligently. "Do you happen to know?" asked Lady Alicia, who had never dared ask the question of Miss Esperance, "what caused the—er—mental break-down, that made Mr. Wycherly leave Oxford?" The keen eyes under the bushy eyebrows twinkled with amusement as Mr. Woodhouse surveyed his hostess, who was, he very well knew, devoured by curiosity. "I’ve never really heard the rights of it," he said cautiously, "but from what I have heard I should gather that it was, as usual, saving your presence, my dear young lady, a woman who was at the bottom of the mischief." "Oh!" exclaimed pretty Margaret, "how very sad. Did she die?" "She was," said Mr. Woodhouse, gazing into the gracious, pitiful young face uplifted to his, "a hard, scheming woman, beautiful, of course, not over young; in fact, I think she was older than he was. He, then, was considered the handsomest man in Oxford, very distinguished, you know, with his white hair and young face, all the Wycherlys go gray very early. At that time there seemed no honour in the university to which he might not aspire. He was popular in society——" "He has the most beautiful manners," Lady Alicia remarked, laying down her knitting and preparing to enjoy herself. "He had then. In fact, in Oxford he was looked upon as a very brilliant and rising young man; and the fact that he had some private means made it possible for him to go into Society, with a big ’S,’ rather more than is usual in such cases." "I always felt," said Lady Alicia, bridling, "that he had at some time or another belonged to the great world. But what of the lady?"