“No, not with his health of course; and I hope, aunt, you were more satisfied about--the lady--than we hoped;--or I should say feared--” “If you mean Mrs. Arthur,” said Lady Curtis, forcing herself to speak the words steadily, “I did not see her, Bertie. I did not wish to see her; therefore I cannot give you any opinion on the subject.” “Nay,” he said gently, “I did not want any opinion. I only trusted that you had been--pleased, or, at least, less displeased--than we fancied. I suppose they have gone abroad?” “I suppose so,” said Lucy rather drearily. This cross-questioning was insupportable to her also; but she was not of an impatient temper like her mother; accordingly while Lady Curtis fumed, it was Lucy who had to speak. “That will be a good thing,” said the Reverend Bertie, “so much can be done abroad. It is really the place to go to when a little polish is wanted. The very fact of living among foreigners is good for one in the way of culture, and Arthur himself has such good manners. I hope you will not think it an impertinent question--but I hope, my dear aunt, there is no open breach?” “What do you mean by an open breach?” she said indignantly. “You talk as if Arthur had murdered some one. If you will tell me plainly what you want to know, I will endeavour to give all the necessary information.” “My dear aunt! is it not natural I should like to know? Arthur and I have always been good friends. In happier circumstances, I should have married him, or helped to have married him--surely you don’t think it is mere vulgar curiosity. I don’t conceal that I should like to know.” Lady Curtis threw her work aside. She could not keep up the appearance of calm. “I am sure you mean very well, Bertie,” she said, (though, indeed, she was by no means so very sure). “And, perhaps, I am not so patient as I ought to be. I can’t talk my boy over as if he were a stranger. Arthur has been very foolish--” “You think I don’t understand,” said the Rector, “do you think I am so unfeeling? I know how hard it must be, and Sir John is very severe. But after all, what is done cannot be undone. Things of this kind so often turn out better than anyone expected. This is why I wanted to know if you had seen the lady. If she has sense, it may all come right, indeed it may--women are so quick, they pick up things so fast. I wish you would let me persuade you to take a little comfort. Things may not be nearly so bad as they seem.” All this was so well said that even the suspicious mother could not make any objections. After all, the chief thing against him was that _he_ was not under a cloud, that he had not made an imprudent marriage; and it was hard to refuse his kindness, and treat him as an enemy on that account. Lady Curtis, who was changeable by right of her quick temper and feelings, melted all at once, and opened her mind to him--her mind at least, if not her heart.