Arthur Arden was at her other hand. He was growing more and more interested in the situation of affairs, and more and more began to feel that something must be in it of greater importance than he had thought. Clare never addressed a word to him, though he was so near to her. Her eyes were fixed on the other end of the table, where Edgar sat. Her lips trembled with a strange quiver of sympathy, which seemed actually physical, when her brother said anything. She looked too far gone in some extraordinary emotion to be able to realise what was going on. When Arthur spoke she did not hear him. She had to be called back to herself by Mr. Fielding’s soft touch upon her hand before she noticed anything, except Edgar. “You seem very much interested in what Mr. Fazakerly is saying. Do you know this bride he is talking of?” Arthur said, trying to draw her attention. “Clare, my love, Mr. Arden is speaking to you; he is asking if you know Miss Monypenny,” said the Rector, with a warning pressure from his thin fingers. “Oh, I beg your pardon; I did not hear you,” Clare would reply, but she made no answer to the question. Her attention would stray again before it was repeated. And then Mr. Fielding gave Arthur Arden an imploring glance across the table. It seemed to ask him to spare her--not to say anything--to leave her to herself. “She is not well to-night,” the Rector said, softly, with tears glistening in his old eyes. What did it mean? Arthur asked himself. It must be something worse than he had thought. The silence at the other end of the table struck Mr. Fazakerly, as it seemed, all at once. He gave two or three anxious looks in the direction of Clare. “Your sister does not look well, Mr. Edgar,” he said. “We can’t afford to let her be ill, she who is the pride of the county. After Miss Monypenny’s, I hope to have her settlements to prepare. You will not be allowed to keep her long, I promise you. But I trust she is not ill. Doctor, I hope you have been attending to your duty. Miss Arden can’t be allowed, in all our interests, to grow so pale.” “Miss Arden is not in the way of consulting me on such subjects,” said the Doctor. “She has a will of her own, like everybody belonging to her. I never knew such a self-willed race. When they take a thing into their heads there is no getting it out again, as you will probably find, Fazakerly, before you are many hours older. I have long known that there was a disposition to mania in the family. Oh, no, not anything dangerous--monomania--delusion on one point.” “I never heard of it before,” said Mr. Fazakerly, promptly, “and I flatter myself I ought to know about the family if any one does. Monomania! Fiddlesticks! Why, look at our young friend here. I’ll back him against the world for clear-seeing and common sense.”