"For you to decide!" struck home. It brought to Nigel's mind vividly, as was already present in hers, the scene by the side of Albert Browning, just before he died. Nigel heard again the laboured breath, the faltering accents—"He will make up to you, my child, for everything! You will be his own! Nigel, I charge you, never—" and then the hand put into his, and the glow on Fulvia's face! All this came back to Nigel in an instant, not quickening his pulses as it quickened Fulvia's. One glimpse of Ethel would have set them beating fast, but not these, recollections. They only brought a sense of weight and strain, of weariness and perplexity. One thing alone was distinct—that he could and would take no hasty steps. Till he had seen Ethel, he must leave all else in suspense. The very thought brought relief. She would help him! She, with her clear sense of duty, her practised spirit of self-denial, would guide him to the knowledge of what he ought to do. Fulvia spoke in a tone of compunction, which yet was not soft— "I don't want to worry you. After all, we can settle nothing yet. Sometimes I think I will go out as governess." "Never!" "Why not? I have some capabilities. What do you propose to do?" "Let or sell the Grange as soon as possible. Go into a small house, and got rid of all superfluous furniture. Dismiss most of the servants. Retrench in every possible way." "And land yourself in a brain fever, by way of saving expense." Nigel was in no mood for light words. "What will you do yourself?" asked Fulvia, having no response. "The Bank." "So I feared. But I thought you were expected to—what was it?—take shares, or invest money in the Bank, or some such thing, in order that you might in time become partner?" "I can't do it now." "They will have you—without?" "Yes. It will make a difference in my standing, of course." "Are you going to see Mr. Bramble?" "I have written to him, and have had an answer." "Already?" She noted the independence and resolution. "Nigel, will you grant me one favour? Let me tell the girls and madre as much as is necessary,—and uncle Arthur too. Let me do it." Nigel would not accept the generous offer. He was bent upon not sparing himself. Fulvia had suffered enough already through him and his; he would not lay upon her a feather's weight in addition. When she pleaded, he said "No" again, and followed her to the drawing-room, with an evident intention to speak without further delay. There were the two girls still, and there was Mr. Carden-Cox, who had not waited for the tea-hour, but had come, as Fulvia foretold. CHAPTER XXI COMPOUND UMBELS AND BLUE EYES "A man must serve his time to every trade Save censure—critics all are ready-made. Take hackneyed jokes from Miller, got by rote, With just enough of learning to misquote; A mind well-skilled to find or forge a fault: A turn for punning—call it Attic salt." "ONE of the Umbelliferæ," said Tom.