Hubert Curtis had not found himself, so far, any the better for the misfortune which had happened to Arthur. He was not taken more into favour at the Hall, nor did Lucy incline more to his society than when her brother was at Oakley. He had not gained any ground. However likely it might be that she would have a larger portion of the family goods, Bertie saw no probability that the advantage would in any way come to himself; he had almost, he thought, lost instead of gaining by Arthur’s absence. When Arthur was at home, he, as the nearest neighbour, the only man of anything near his own age close at hand, had a natural place at Oakley besides that derived from his relationship. But now what had he to do at the Hall? Lucy did not encourage him, certainly, in any devotion to her. Lady Curtis had an instinctive, half-jealous dislike to him, as she would have had probably to any young man whose sensible and correct behaviour was a standing reproach to Arthur. And Sir John could not be troubled by Bertie’s peace-making and desire to persuade him that all would eventually be well. Therefore he had suffered with Arthur, which was a thing he did not calculate upon; and it would be impossible to deny that his mother’s story about Arthur’s wife had given him a kind of grim satisfaction. If he were not bettered, at least others were the worse; he said, “poor Arthur!” with contemptuous content. If a man chose to make a fool of himself like that, it was only right that he should pay the penalty, and he had been unable to refrain from repeating his mother’s story to Mrs. Rolt, who was shocked and grieved, as Bertie, too, assumed to be. But he had not been guilty of the treachery of discussing it at the Hall. When Miss Wilton spoke to him, he had no desire to give her any further information, but answered as sparingly as possible. Of course it was now, when he really had been exercising a certain amount of virtue, that his punishment came. “Bertie,” said Lucy, as he came up to her, “I want to know why my aunt goes on spreading that story, and why you talk it over with everybody except mamma and me?” “What story?” But he did not attempt to deceive her further by pretending that he did not know. “We were the most interested,” said Lucy. “If you had told us it would have been natural, and perhaps kind; but why do you tell it to other people? What good could that do?” “What other people have I told it to?” he said. “I was questioned over there, but I made no reply, or at least as little as I could. I told Mrs. Rolt, and I beg your pardon for that. She was so anxious to know something, and I knew she was to be trusted. Don’t blame me, Lucy; I have not intended to be hard upon Arthur.”