“Oh, yes, I have read a great many novels,” said Lucy. “That is always how young barristers get on; and between that and the woolsack is but a step.” “A very long stride, I fear; but I do not insist on the woolsack,” said Durant; and then there was a pause, and he said lower, “I saw Arthur a few days ago.” “Did you see him? Oh, Mr. Durant, you must not mind what mamma says. She has begun to jeer at him, and that is the worst of all. How was he looking? Poor Arthur, poor boy! And his wife--did you see her? Oh, I have been hearing such a story of her!” “What story?” he asked anxiously. _He_ had heard many; but on the whole he was no enemy to Nancy. He saw the glimmer of tears in Lucy’s eyes, and this did much to steel his heart against Arthur’s wife; but still he had no feeling against Nancy. He was ready even, more or less, to stand up in her defence. “My aunt, it appears, saw her in Paris, Mr. Durant.” “Oh, it is Mrs. Curtis’s story then?” he said. “You speak as if there were a great many stories about her,” said Lucy, with sudden heat. “No; but one hears everything, you know, in town--especially, I think, at this time of the year, when there are few men about, and they talk of everything.” “Yes,” said Lucy, “I have heard often of the gossip in your clubs, that it is worse and more unkind than any other gossip.” “Do not be too hard upon us! It is as petty and miserable as gossip is everywhere. But I have seen Mrs. Curtis, and heard it from herself. It is nothing, a misunderstanding between women--” “Which, of course, you consider the merest trifle,” cried Lucy, much more piqued by this countershot than he had been by the assault on the clubs. Women are certainly on this point more ready to take offence than men, who have the calm confidence of their own superiority to fall back upon. “I do not, indeed; but the women in question are not of the highest order. Mrs. Curtis most likely was fussy and interfering; and Nancy--” “Do you call her Nancy?” cried Lucy, opening wide eyes. “I beg your pardon. I got used to the name before she was Mrs. Arthur; and there is such a wonderful incongruity in the idea that she is Mrs. Arthur,” he said, doing his best to conciliate by this remark; but this slip of the name had evidently had a bad effect, he could not tell why. He thought that Lucy (in whom he had never before seen any indication of such foolish family pride) was offended by such a familiarity; and yet what could he say to excuse it? “Mrs. Curtis was intrusive, probably,” he went on, “and Mrs. Arthur resented it.” “Oh, do not change the name you are accustomed to for me, Mr. Durant!” “I am not accustomed to it,” he answered meekly, feeling that something was wrong, but not knowing what it was. “She resented it, I suppose. I do not wish to be disagreeable, but you know that a lady like Mrs. Curtis can be very officious and interfering; and _she_ resented it, I suppose.”