"Do you propose, then, to go yourself?" "I am of no use," said Fontenoy, decisively. Maxwell had cause to know that the statement was true, and did not press him. They fell into a rapid consultation. Meanwhile, Marcella had drawn Mrs. Allison to the sofa beside her, and was attempting a futile task of comfort. Mrs. Allison answered in monosyllables, glancing hither and thither. At last she said in a low, swift voice, as though addressing herself, rather than her companion, "If all fails, I have made up my mind. I shall leave his house. I can take nothing more from him." Marcella started. "But that would deprive you of all chance, all hope of influencing him," she said, her eager, tender look searching the other woman's face. "No; it would be my duty," said Mrs. Allison, simply, crossing her hands upon her lap. Her delicate blue eyes, swollen with weeping, the white hair, of which a lock had escaped from its usual quiet braids and hung over her blanched cheeks, her look at once saintly and indomitable--every detail of her changed aspect made a chill and penetrating impression. Marcella began to understand what the Christian might do, though the mother should die of it. Meanwhile she watched the two men at the other side of the room, with a manifest eagerness for their return. Presently, indeed, she half rose and called: "Aldous!" Lord Maxwell turned. "Are you thinking of someone who might go to Trouville?" she asked him. "Yes, but we can hit on no one," he replied, in perplexity. She moved towards him, bearing herself with a peculiar erectness and dignity. "Would it be possible to ask Sir George Tressady to go?" she said quietly. Maxwell looked at her open-mouthed for an instant. Fontenoy, behind him, threw a sudden, searching glance at the beautiful figure in grey. "We all know," she said, turning back to the mother, "that Ancoats likes Sir George." Mrs. Allison shrunk a little from the clear look. Fontenoy's rage of defeat, however modified in her presence, had nevertheless expressed itself to her in phrases and allusions that had both perplexed and troubled her. _Had_ Marcella indeed made use of her beauty to decoy a weak youth from his allegiance? And now she spoke his name so simply. But the momentary wonder died from the poor mother's mind. "I remember," she said sadly, "I remember he once spoke to me very kindly about my son." "And he thought kindly," said Marcella, rapidly; "he is kind at heart. Aldous! if Cousin Charlotte consents, why not at least put the case to him? He knows everything. He might undertake what we want, for her sake,--for all our sakes,--and it might succeed." The swift yet calm decision of her manner completed Maxwell's bewilderment. His eyes sought hers, while the others waited, conscious, somehow, of a dramatic moment. Fontenoy's flash of malicious curiosity made him even forget, while it lasted, the little tragic figure on the sofa. "What do you say, Cousin Charlotte?" said Maxwell at last.