That pretty child, meanwhile, was absorbed in the excitement of her own small _role_. Tressady, who had only made duty-conversation with her before, had found out somehow that she was sympathetic--that she would talk to him charmingly about Letty. After a very little pretending, he let himself go; and Evelyn dreamt at night of his confidences, her heart, without knowing it, leaping forward to the time when a man would look at her so, for her own sake--not another's. She forgot that she had ever criticised Letty, thought her vain or selfish. Nay, she made a heroine of her forthwith; she remembered all sorts of delightful things to say of her, simply that she might keep the young member talking in a corner, that she might still enjoy the delicious pride of feeling that she knew--she was helping it on. After the big "shoot," for instance, when all the other gentlemen were stiff and sleepy, George spent the whole evening in chattering to Evelyn, or, rather, in making her chatter. Lady Tressady loitered near them once or twice. She heard the names "Letty," "Miss Sewell," passing and repassing--one talker catching up the other. Over any topic that included Miss Sewell they lingered; when anything was begun that did not concern her, it dropped at once, like a ball ill thrown. The mother went away smiling rather sourly. She watched her son, indeed, cat-like all these days, trying to discover what had happened--what his real mind was. She did not wish for a daughter-in-law at all, and she had even a secret fear of Letty Sewell in that capacity. But somehow George must be managed, her own needs must be met. She felt that she might be undoing the future; but the present drove her on. On the following morning, from one of Mrs. Watton's numerous letters there dropped out the fact that Letty Sewell was expected immediately at a country house in North Mercia whereof a certain Mrs. Corfield was mistress--a house only distant some twenty miles from the Tressadys' estate of Ferth Place. "My sister-in-law has recovered with remarkable rapidity," said Mrs. Watton, raising a sarcastic eye. "Do you know anything of the Corfields, Sir George?" "Nothing at all," said George. "One hears of them sometimes from neighbours. They are said to be very lively folk. Miss Sewell will have a gay time." "Corfield?" said Lady Tressady, her head on one side and her cup balanced in two jewelled hands. "What! _Aspasia Corfield_! Why, my dear George--one of my oldest friends!" George laughed--the short, grating laugh his mother so often evoked. "Beg pardon, mother; I can only answer for myself. To the best of my belief I never saw her, either at Ferth or anywhere else." "Why, Aspasia Corfield and I," said Lady Tressady with languid reflectiveness--"Aspasia Corfield and I copied each other's dresses, and bought our hats at the same place, when we were eighteen. I haven't seen her for an eternity. But Aspasia used to be a _dear_ girl--and so fond of me!"