“Well,” said Matilda, stoutly, “he is her young man. What is wrong in that? They’ve been going up and down like two young people keeping company this hour or more, while you have been watching the sky (of course she exaggerated the time), and nothing a bit wrong in it that I can see. You’ve done the same yourself--and so would I if it had come in my way,” said honest Matilda. Then, however, her voice sank, and she took her sister by the arm. “That’s not half,” she said, “Nancy, dear! and the most important’s to come. Do you remember Durant, that came to Underhayes with Arthur? You must remember Durant--him that Sarah Jane took such a fancy to.” “I remember Mr. Durant,” said fastidious Nancy. “I don’t know why _you_ should talk of him so familiarly.” “Oh, have done with your fine talk and your nonsense!” cried Matilda. “Look here, he’s _there_, Nancy! I tell you he’s there, close by, courting Miss Lucy. You can come and look for yourself if you don’t trust me.” Nancy came slowly, half forced by the eager Matilda, but already turning over in her mind what expedients would be necessary to escape this sudden turn of affairs. Durant! (She allowed herself to drop the Mr. in her thoughts.) He would find her out, she knew, before many hours were out. She could not keep her secret from him; he would find her, and write to Arthur, and make or mar everything. What was she to do? A great conflict arose within her. She was sick enough of this state of affairs, and if Durant did intervene to end it, would there be so very much to regret? Arthur would come home, he would come to her, and there would be a reconciliation, and all would be well. But then, on the other hand, she had to own, with a sickening sensation in her heart, that already Arthur must have been for some time aware of “what had happened,” and he had not hastened home to her. And the idea that Durant might write to him, send for him as a matter of duty, sent all the blood coursing through her veins. Never! never! She would die first. Even short of that, how much pleasanter it would be to manage everything herself, to leave it to Providence, than that, anyhow, Durant should step in. All these thoughts rushed in a heap into her mind, tumultuous, rolling and rushing over each other like clouds before the wind, as she took the half-dozen steps necessary to bring her to Matilda’s point of vision to verify what Matilda had seen. But it did not require any verification to Nancy. She had felt sure it was true from the first moment. It was exactly the thing that was most likely to happen. She looked through the thorn branches, however, with a wakening of sympathy, such as she had scarcely yet felt, in Lucy. Lucy of late had been lost in Sir John and her ladyship; and when she had thought of her specially it was with jealous fear rather than sympathy. Now she watched her with a curious mingling of interest and opposition. It seemed wrong to Nancy that Miss