"Hesitate! When it means that. No, no—impossible! You are only playing with my fears. And caring for Fulvia as you do! It is not as if she were nothing to you; she—the most unselfish, the noblest—Yes, I know you had another fancy once. But what of that? Everybody has a boyish fancy first, which has to be given up. And that could not be; it never could have been! He would not have consented; and now he is gone, how could I? Oh no! I have always had objections—strong objections. But we need not talk of that now. We have only to think of our dear Fulvia—my child already! I don't know if you will like me to say it, but there cannot be much doubt, if you speak, what Fulvia's answer will be. She has shown at times so plainly—not meaning it, of course—has shown what she feels. If you could have seen her, as I have, always on the watch for you, always thinking of your comfort—her happiness depending on your very look. It is not a thing that one can be mistaken about!" "Mother, you are saying all this to me!—And if I should not ask her?" Nigel said in a low tone. It was his nearest approach to a rebuke with Mrs. Browning. He would not have heard the words from any one else. "You will ask her! I know you will. I have not a doubt. Think, if you did not; think of the misery, the terrible misery to us all—your father's dear name dragged in the mire—trampled upon. The very thought half kills me!" And indeed a ghastly look came into her face. "I could not bear it! I could never endure it! Promise, oh, promise me, for his sake, my Nigel—promise to shelter him—all of us! Only promise!" she implored. CHAPTER XXIII A STRANGE INTERVIEW "When we two parted In silence and tears."—BYRON. WHEN Ethel left Tom, she really was angry with him. Such rudeness to speak of her "caring too much" for anybody! What business was it of Tom's whom she liked or did not like? And to call Nigel "that fellow"! Perhaps this little insult to Nigel rankled the most. Ethel's anger was never bitter in kind, or long lasting, and annoyance soon gave way to amusement. Poor old Tom! After all, he had not meant any harm; and he did not know Nigel; but how Tom could ever have thought such a thing possible was the marvel. Leave all she loved in England, and go to Australia with only Tom and Tom's herbaria! "Oh, never!" said Ethel to herself. She repeated the word energetically, half aloud, as she passed through the square—"Never!" and a passerby turned to look at her, smiling. Ethel did not see; she went quickly, without any particular aim, towards the river. It was a tempting afternoon for a stroll, balmy and soft—one of those mild grey days, with occasional gleams of sunshine, which do sometimes intrude themselves into an English winter. They are not exactly invigorating days, and enthusiastic skaters are wont to abuse them; but to haters of cold they come as a cheery foretaste of spring.