They were certainly not laughing. That, however, may have been the cathedral--not that men of Jellaby’s stamp have even a rudimentary sense of reverence and decency--but anyhow part of the libel was disposed of, for the gentle lady was serious. She was, it is true, a good deal more fluent than I knew her, but she seemed moved by some strong emotion which no doubt accounted for that. What I could not account for was her displaying emotion to a person like Jellaby. The first thing, for instance, that I heard her say was, “It is all my fault.” And her voice vibrated with penitence. “Oh, but it wasn’t, you know,” said Jellaby. “Yes, it was. And I feel I ought to take a double share of the burden, and instead I don’t take any.” Burden? What burden could the tender lady possibly have to bear that would not gladly be borne for her by many a masculine shoulder, including mine? I was about to put my head round the pillar’s edge to assure her of this when she began to speak again. “I did try--at first,” she said. “But I--I simply _can’t_. So I shift it on to Di.” Di, my friends, is Mrs. Menzies-Legh, christened with prophetic paganism Diana. “An extremely sensible thing to do,” thought I, remembering the wiriness of Di. “She is very wonderful,” said Jellaby. “Yes,” I silently agreed, “most.” “She is an angel,” said her (I suppose naturally) partial sister, whose sentiments were besides, no doubt, at that moment coloured by the surroundings in which she found herself. But I could not help being entertained by this example of lovable blindness. “It is so sweetly good of her to keep him off us,” continued Frau von Eckthum. “She does it so kindly. So unselfishly. What can it be like to have such a husband?” “Ah,” thought I, a light illuminating my mind, “they are talking of our friend John. Naturally his charming sister-in-law cannot bear him. Nor should she be called upon to do so. To bear her husband is solely a wife’s affair.” “What _can_ it be like?” repeated Frau von Eckthum, in the voice of one vainly trying to realize something beyond words bad. “I can’t think,” said Jellaby, basely, I thought, for he professed much outward friendship for John. “Of course she is amused--in a way,” continued Frau von Eckthum, “but that sort of amusement soon palls, doesn’t it?” “Extraordinarily soon,” said Jellaby. “Before it has so much as begun,” thought I, recollecting the man’s sallow, solemn visage. But then it is no part of a wife’s functions to be amused. “And she is really sorry for him,” said Frau von Eckthum. “Indeed?” thought I, entertained by the patronizing attitude implied. “She says,” continued her gentle sister, “that his loneliness, whether he knows it or not, makes her ache.” Well, I did not mind Mrs. Menzies-Legh aching, so thought nothing definite there. “She doesn’t want him to notice we get out of his way--she is afraid he might be hurt. Do you think he would be?” “No,” said Jellaby. “Pure leather.”