For a few days after what had passed there was a happy reaction in the house. Everyone was almost unnaturally sweet and polite and unselfish about trifles to everybody else. Edith was devoting herself to the children, Bruce had less of her society than usual. She seemed to assume they were to be like brother and sister. He wouldn't at present raise the question; thinking she would soon get over such a rotten idea. Besides, a great many people had left town; and they were, themselves, in the rather unsettled state of intending to go away in a fortnight. Though happy at getting off so easily, Bruce was really missing the meetings and notes (rather than the girl). Fortunately, Vincy now returned; he was looking sunburnt and happy. He had been having a good time. Yet he looked a little anxious occasionally, as if perplexed. One day he told Edith that he had just had a rather serious quarrel with someone who was awfully cross, and carried on like anything and wouldn't give over. 'I guess who she is. What does she want you to do?' 'She wants me to do what all my relations are always bothering me to do,' said Vincy, 'only with a different person.' 'What, to marry?' 'Yes.' 'To marry her, I suppose? Shall you?' 'I'm afraid not,' he said. 'I don't think I quite can.' 'Don't you think it would be rather unkind to her?' Neither of them had mentioned Miss Argles' name. The fact that Vincy referred to it at all showed her that he had recovered from his infatuation. 'But do you think I'm treating the poor girl badly?' 'Vincy, even if you adored her it would end unhappily. As you don't, you would both be miserable from the first day. Be firm. Be nice and kind to her and tell her straight out, and come and stay with us in the country.' 'Well, that was rather my idea. Oh, but, Edith, it's hard to hurt anyone.' 'You know I saw her driving with Aylmer that day, and I thought he liked her. I found I was wrong.' 'Yes. He doesn't. I wish I could get some nice person to--er--take her out. I mean, take her on.' 'What sort of person? She's pretty in her way. I daresay she'll attract someone.' 'What sort of person? Oh, I don't know. Some nice earl would please her, or one of those artist chaps you read of in the feuilletons--the sort of artist who, when he once gets a tiny little picture skied at the Academy, immediately has fortune, and titles and things, rolling in. A little picture called 'Eventide' or 'Cows by Moonlight', or something of that sort, in those jolly stories means ten thousand pounds a year at once. Jolly, isn't it?' 'Yes, Vincy dear, but we're not living in a feuilleton. What's really going to be done? Will she be nasty?' 'No. But I'm afraid Aunt Jessie will abuse me something cruel.' He thought a little while. 'In fact she has.' 'What does she say?'