Nothing was said for some time after. Spring had come breathing over the woods, and to look between the pillars of the facade through the long windows of my lady’s room upon the avenue, was like looking into a wilderness of buds and hopes. “Here is Bertie coming again,” she said with a little impatience; then laughing, “he is one, Lucy, of whom your father is afraid.” “Poor Bertie!” said Lucy composedly; but she was startled into dismay when her mother suddenly burst into tears. “To think,” said Lady Curtis, “that Bertie’s child, if he had a child, would be your father’s heir!” “Mamma!” Lucy blushed crimson, then laughed. “He is the second son--and Arthur--” “Arthur will never have any children,” said Lady Curtis gloomily, “if things do not change. And she is young and strong, as young as you are--why should she die to accommodate us? And Gerald Curtis is a wandering invalid. Ah! there is no fear of the Seymours--they will have their own flesh and blood after them whatever happens. But your father is growing an old man, Lucy; and Bertie--Bertie’s son will be the heir!” “He is not even married yet; there can be no need for vexing ourselves over such a remote contingency.” “But it will happen,” said Arthur’s mother, “though it is so remote. My boy is like Warrington, in ‘Pendennis,’ Lucy, shut off from life; no child for him, no love for him; all because of one foolish, foolish step when he was nothing but a boy!” “But, mamma! you really do not mean that boys should be permitted to escape the consequences of such foolish steps,” cried Lucy. “How unlike you to say so!” “Ah! one becomes unlike one’s self when it is one’s self that suffers,” said Lady Curtis with a sigh. And then Bertie made his appearance, and all feeling was banished from her countenance. She discussed young Seymour’s marriage with interest. “Nothing could have been more suitable. So suitable that one felt something must interpose to put a stop to it. The girl of all others he ought to have married! And a charming girl--pretty and well-bred, and sweet--” “I hear they are all immensely pleased; but I do not admire her so much as you do. She is not the style I care for,” said the Rector. “She is too charming, and too sensible, and too everything she ought to be--for me.” “Faultily faultless,” said Lady Curtis smiling. She was pleased that he did not approve of young Seymour’s perfect wife. “And she is heavy,” said Bertie. “I used to know her very well. Her brother was of my college. She will not be an addition to the gaiety of the family. She has not very much to say for herself.”