"She came down for Commemoration Week; stayed, I think, with the Dean of Christ Church, and made a dead set at Wycherly. He went down before her like a ninepin, and they were engaged, and there was ’a marriage arranged to take place,’ before the week was out." "Why didn’t it take place?" asked pretty Margaret eagerly. "Because, my dear young lady, the lady in question happened to fascinate a richer man just a week before the wedding day, and poor Wycherly discovered the whole affair in some fashion that was a very great shock to him. The only thing he was ever heard to say about it was that it hurt him rather to hear of her marriage to the other man while he was still under the impression that she was engaged to him." "She wasn’t worth grieving over," Lady Alicia cried indignantly. "Poor Mr. Wycherly!" pretty Margaret said softly. "And he is so kind and gentle always." "I hope her marriage turned out badly," said Lady Alicia vindictively. "Your ladyship’s pious hope was amply fulfilled," Mr. Woodhouse replied. "Won’t you tell us who she was?" Lady Alicia demanded in honeyed tones. "Alas, dear Lady Alicia, that I must not do. She is dead—_de mortuis nil nisi bonum_, you know—may she rest in peace!" Lady Alicia folded up her knitting. "In that case," she said somewhat abruptly, "we must not keep you out of your bed any longer, you have had a tiring day." * * * * * "Is he quite capable of managing his own affairs?" Mr. Wycherly’s brothers eagerly asked Mr. Woodhouse on his return some three days later. "Perfectly capable," answered that gentleman decidedly. "Indeed, he shows quite remarkable business capacity, considering how long it is since he has undertaken anything of the kind. It’s a thousand pities he resigned his fellowship. I would not advise you to attempt any sort of interference with him—for, however reluctant I might be to give evidence as to the impropriety of such a course, I should be obliged in common honesty to do so. It was certainly Quixotic to resign his fellowship when he did, but it could not be brought up as a proof of mental incapacity at this time of day." Mr. Wycherly’s brothers did not fail to remind him at this juncture that, had he listened to them, he would still be enjoying the income of his fellowship. "No one," they had reiterated, "could take it from him while he lived. Once a fellow, always a fellow—a fellowship was a freehold, and what did it matter to the authorities in Oxford what he did north of the Tweed?" But Mr. Wycherly had loved his college too dearly to bring shame upon her, and if he could not serve, neither would he accept wage. And now that he had every reason to wish that his income was larger, it was the one step in all the inglorious past that he did not regret.