Here Nancy confounded her sister, who was present, and bewildered herself, and won Mrs. Rolt’s tenderest sympathies by telling the merest simple truth. “When you speak of Arthur,” she said, “you make me think of my husband; and--I can’t help it!” she said, putting her head down on Cousin Julia’s kind shoulder and bursting into a passion of tears. How touched and interested and gratified that good woman was! She insisted on taking Nancy upstairs and making her lie down for a little. “You poor dear child!” she said, longing to ask a thousand questions, but heroically refraining; “but you must rest a little, and get back your pretty looks. You must not look pale to-morrow. I want you to look your best to-morrow.” But when she came down stairs again, it was not in human nature not to make an effort to get something out of Matilda. “She never said anything to me about her husband before,” said Mrs. Rolt. “It would do her good to talk a little, not to shut up everything in her own heart, poor dear. Is it long since?” she asked delicately. She did not know what it was, whether death or separation. The question had to be put vaguely, and Cousin Julia had a consciousness that she had put it in a very successful way. “She will tell you herself,” said Matilda. “She does not like other people to talk about it,” and she opened the door with great alacrity that the visitor might go away. CHAPTER XIV. Arthur went to Durant’s chambers again next morning, with a forlorn hope that something or other might have brought his friend back, without whom, it appeared to him, that he did not know what measures to take. Durant had held the keys of his fortune one way or another, and could guide him with the right thing to do, the right way to set about everything. He had never doubted that Durant would be in town, and would help him, and the first sensation in his mind was one of irritation mingled with disappointment. Of course, the only thing to be done, failing Durant, was to go to Underhayes, where he knew his friend had already gone without success. But what else was there to do, what other clew was there? At the great railway-station, where he got the train to Underhayes, it was his bad fortune to meet again with Denham, whom he had seen not very long ago in Vienna. Arthur gnashed his teeth at sight of this butterfly fluttering in his way again, no doubt to disturb his mind with some foolish buzz or other--and did his best to avoid him; but he was not a man to be avoided. He came forward with all his usual warmth of friendliness and surprise to see the other in England. “You here, Curtis!” he said.