"Yes, Arthur," said Mrs. Vincent, meekly; she had determined _not_ to see Mrs. Hilyard, of whom her gentle respectability was suspicious; but, startled by her son's looks, and by the evident arrival of that period, instinctively perceived by most women, at which a man snatches the reins out of his adviser's hand, and has his way, the alarmed and anxious mother let her arms fall, and gave in without a struggle. "The fact is, I heard of Mr. Fordham last night," said Vincent, walking about the room, lifting up and setting down again abstractedly the things on the table. "Lady Western knows him, it appears; perhaps Mrs. Hilyard does too." "Lady Western knows him? Oh, Arthur, tell me--what did she say?" cried his mother, clasping her hands. "She said he could be trusted--with life--to death," said Vincent, very low, with an inaudible groan in his heart. He was prepared for the joy and the tears, and the thanksgiving with which his words were received; but he could not have believed, how sharply his mother's exclamation, "God bless my Susan! now I am happy about her, Arthur. I could be content to die," would go to his heart. Susan, yes;--it was right to be happy about her; and as for himself, who cared? He shut up his heart in that bitterness; but it filled him with an irritation and restlessness which he could not subdue. "We must go to Mrs. Hilyard; probably she can tell us more," he said, abruptly; "and there is her child to speak of. I blame myself," he added, with impatience, "for not telling her before. Let us go now directly--never mind ringing the bell; all that can be done when we are out. Dinner? oh, for heaven's sake, let _them_ manage that! Where is your bonnet, mother? the air will do me good after a bad night."