And Sir John, who was altogether puzzled, came forward a step and looked at her where she lay, holding up his spectacles solemnly in his hand. “I am afraid she has fainted,” he said. “I thought she was not very well. It will be better to leave your mother and a maid to manage her, Arthur. We are interested in the young lady, but we are more interested in you.” Nancy came to herself as he spoke, and struggling up, got upon her knees. “I did not faint,” she said, hoarsely; “only the light went from me. I did not mean to deceive any one. I said just this one day; I wanted to see you, and Arthur’s home. I did not mean to deceive you. If you please, I will go away, and never trouble you any more.” “Nancy!” cried Arthur, “Nancy!” He put his arm round her, holding her. He had been kneeling beside her while she lay there, and he was not aware of the suppliant attitude which accident made him assume. “Look at me,” he said, “look at _me_! If you cared for Arthur’s home, did you not care for _me_, Nancy? You shall never go away, except with me.” Nancy got up hastily, drawing herself away from him. She was at the turn of her capricious soul. Would she burst away again, rush out into the cold and the twilight? Everything hung on the impulse of the moment. She gave a wild look round upon all those agitated faces. Sir John had put on his spectacles the better to understand the extraordinary position of affairs which had begun to dawn upon him now. “It appears to me,” he said slowly, “if I understand, that there can be no question here of going away, no more for this young lady than for any of us. Is it possible--I do not mean to be uncivil, but you will excuse the question--is it possible that you are, as I understand, my son’s wife?” Nancy was caught at the moment of doubt. She herself turned and looked at Arthur. Her eyes softened, her paleness began to glow. He drew her arm within his, and she did not resist. “Yes,” she said, with a long soft sigh. It was hardly possible to tell which was the word and which the lingering flutter of breath. “Then, my dear--though I have forgotten your name,” said the old gentleman, going up to her, taking her disengaged hand, and kissing her very solemnly on the forehead, “you are very welcome in his father’s house.” “And me?” said Lady Curtis, with a little moan. Grammar and emotion do not always go together. “I have only half seen Arthur, and must I turn all at once to Arthur’s wife?” “If you care for me, mother!--”