"No. Now I come to think of it, _I_ said that, and he agreed. And his visit, and his conversation about Mrs. Humphry Ward, comparing _David Grieve_ and _Robert Elsmere_, quite cured dear Maria's headache, and we agreed that neither of us would tell you about it in the absence of the other, so that we might make you guess. So remember, Annette, when Maria comes in, you don't know a word, a single word, of what I've told you." Aunt Maria came in at that moment, and sat down on the other side of the fire. Aunt Maria was a short, sacklike woman between fifty and sixty, who had long since given up any pretensions to middle age, and who wore her grey hair parted under a little cap. Many antagonistic qualities struggled for precedence in Aunt Maria's stout, uneasy face: benevolence and irritability, self-consciousness and absent-mindedness, a suspicious pride and the self-depreciation which so often dogs it; and the fatigue of one who daily and hourly is trying to be "an influence for good," with little or no help from temperament. Annette had developed a compassionate affection for both her aunts, now that they were under her protection, but the greater degree of compassion was for Aunt Maria. "Aunt Harriet will have told you who has been to see us," she said as a matter of course. Aunt Harriet fixed an imploring glance on Annette, who explained that she had seen a dogcart in the courtyard, and how later she had seen Mr. Stirling driving in it. "I wished, Harriet," said Aunt Maria, without looking at her sister, "that you had not asked him if he had read my books." "But he had, Maria. He was only doubtful the first minute, till I told him some of the names, and then----" "Then the poor man perjured himself." "And I thought that was so true how he said to you, 'You and I, Miss Nevill, have no time in our hard-worked lives to read even the best modern fiction.'" "I found time to read _The Magnet_," said Aunt Maria in a hollow voice. At this moment the door opened and Hodgkins the parlour-maid advanced into the room bearing a tray, which she put down in an aggressive manner on a small table beside Annette. "I am certain Hodgkins is vexed about something," said Aunt Harriet solemnly, when that functionary had withdrawn. "I am as sensitive as a mental thermometer to what others are feeling, and I saw by the way she set the tray down that she was angry. She must have guessed that I've found out about the Alberts." "Perhaps she guessed that Annette was starving," said Aunt Maria. CHAPTER XVII "Life is like a nest in the winter, The heart of man is always cold therein." _Roumanian Folk Song._ The lawyer who was to have altered Lady Louisa's will was sent away as soon as he arrived. No one knew why she had telegraphed for him. She had had a second stroke, and with it the last vestige of power dropped from her numb hands. She was unable to speak, unable to move, unable even to die.