The wish was an old wish; but it seemed to have suddenly sprung from a torpid to an active condition. Mr. Browning could not leave it alone. He was always harping on it, making nervous little allusions, talking about Nigel to Fulvia, discussing Fulvia with Nigel, weighing possibilities in the hearing of his wife. He watched the two whenever they were together, anxiously, pitifully, as if craving some sign of that which he wanted. Nobody who saw all this could doubt the private touch of Mr. Carden-Cox's finger. Fulvia neither helped nor hindered. She was too proud to help, too deeply attached to Nigel to hinder. Her aim was to hold an even course, inclining to neither side; and she was well again in health, which perhaps made self-control easier. Yet not all her self-control could prevent the quick blush, ready to spring on the least provocation. A meaning word or look from Mr. Browning was always enough to bring it. Nigel saw, of course—he could not help seeing—and he found himself in no easy position. Between gratitude to Fulvia for her generosity and dread of injuring his father, he had sometimes a nightmare sense of being dragged into that from which he utterly shrank. He was very careful, very watchful over himself, most desirous not to be betrayed into any rash word or act, equally anxious to avoid distressing his father and to avoid giving the least handle to the notion that he sought Fulvia. But he was young still, and naturally impulsive. He was not much given to putting his deeper feelings into words, but neither was he given to artificial concealment of them. Fulvia could be artificial at times, for a purpose; Nigel could not. Whatever else he might be, he was always natural. It was natural to him to be kind and affectionate towards Fulvia. He and she were, and ever had been, on such easy terms, that he continually found himself saying or doing something which made the telltale blood leap to her face. This might not have meant so much with some girls; but Fulvia was not addicted to blushing, commonly; and Nigel knew it. When he caught himself in such a mistake, he pulled up instantly. But the mischief was usually done first; though how much "done," he never guessed. He was too transparent to allow for her non-transparency. If she made him uneasy by a vivid flush one minute, she made him easy by her careless indifference the next; and he did not discriminate between that which was real and that which was put on. The question of college was still in abeyance, for Mr. Browning could endure no discussion. He alluded once or twice, in his most nervous manner, to the opening at the Bank, but shrank from any decision. There was "no hurry—an answer was not required till after Christmas; Mr. Bramble was quite willing to wait," he said. "By-and-by, when I am stronger—perhaps—anyhow, we cannot spare you yet, my dear boy!"