As for Lucy, she read the two letters with a double distress, as seeming to see something in both of them which escaped her parents. She thought it was because she was young, and in sympathy with these two foolish, erring, unkind, young people, that she was able to read between the lines and see that they were not so unkind as they seemed. There was, as she had said, a kind of savage justice in Nancy’s letter from Nancy’s point of view, and insolent though it was, Lucy felt that she could understand it, and could excuse it though it was inexcusable. And as for Arthur’s cold interestedness and apparent indifference to everything, was not this only a sign of mortal pain, a proof that he felt himself in a position from which he could not recede, which he dared not discuss or enter into? “Oh,” she cried in the tumult of feeling which rose within her, “do not take it all for granted like this. Arthur is not what you think him, papa. He feels it, oh, I know he feels it to the bottom of his heart; but how can he discuss it, how can he open such a subject with us? She is his wife, and she knows what we think of her.” “Oh, Lucy, hold your peace,” cried Lady Curtis, whose heart was wrung to breaking, “what is the use of this casuistry, as if you knew him better than we do. No, I cannot shut my eyes to the truth whatever you may do; this boy for whom we have done so much, whom we have brought up so carefully, finds something more congenial in low society than in ours. It is unworthy of us to groan over such a preference. See, he avows it. He is going back to that wretched place, to the society of his wife’s relations. We ought to be proud,” said Lady Curtis with her eyes flashing, with a miserable make believe of a smile on her lips, “that is what he likes best, _my_ boy!” “Oh, mamma, don’t be so hard upon him.” “So hard, am I hard? upon Arthur! God help me! I wish I could be a little harder; I wish I could think as little of him as he does of me or of what I feel,” cried Lady Curtis with a moan in her broken voice. Sir John did not show so much emotion. He stood gazing dully before him, not even looking at them, his eyes fixed upon vacancy; but many thoughts were revolving dully in his oppressed spirit too. “Now that he has written to me like this, he shall be attended to,” said Sir John, “since he wants nothing but money, he shall have his money, and I will wash my hands of him. People do not spend a great deal in that rank of life do they? If that is how he is going to live, he must be provided for accordingly. I will speak to Rolt about it to-morrow. You see how he speaks of poor Rolt, a most meritorious man, that has no thought except our interest. And if it had not been that Arthur got hold of it before he ought to have known, Rolt would have bought the girl off and freed us. Ah, yes--Rolt is the best man of business, and the most considerate family friend I know.”