"I have sometimes thought that he cared for her," said Patience cunningly. "He would hardly have been so often at the villa, unless there had been something." "There must be nothing of that kind," said Sir Thomas. "He is a spendthrift, and quite unworthy of her. I will not have him at the villa. He must be told so. If you see anything of that kind, you must inform me. Do you understand, Patience?" Patience understood well enough, but knew not what reply to make. She could not tell her sister's secret. And if there were faults in the matter, was it not her father's fault? Why had he not lived with them, so that he might see these things with his own eyes? "There must be nothing of that kind," said Sir Thomas, with a look of anger in his eyes. When the week was over, the innkeeper and the doctors submitting with but a bad grace, the member for Percycross returned to London with his arm bound up in a sling. The town was by this time quite tranquil. The hustings had been taken down, and the artizans of the borough were back at their labours, almost forgetting Moggs and his great doctrines. That there was to be a petition was a matter of course. It was at least a matter of course that there should be threats of a petition. The threat of course reached Sir Thomas's ears, but nothing further was said to him. When he and his daughter went down to the station in the Standard fly, it almost seemed that he was no more to the borough than any other man might be with a broken arm. "I shall not speak of this to Mary," he said on his journey home. "Nor should you, I think, my dear." "Of course not, papa." "He should have the opportunity of changing his mind after receiving my letter, if he so pleases. For her sake I hope he will not." Patience said nothing further. She loved her cousin Mary, and certainly had felt no dislike for this fortunate young man. But she could not so quickly bring herself to sympathise with interests which seemed to be opposed to those of her sister. CHAPTER XXXI. IT IS ALL SETTLED.