“Because she loves me so!” cried Adelaide gaily. But she hadn’t come to see me only to tell me Miss Anvoy loved her: that was quite sufficiently established, and what was much more to the point was that Mr. Gravener had now raised an objection to it. He had protested at least against her being at Wimbledon, where in the innocence of his heart he had originally brought her himself; he called on her to put an end to their engagement in the only proper, the only happy manner. “And why in the world doesn’t she do do?” I asked. Adelaide had a pause. “She says you know.” Then on my also hesitating she added: “A condition he makes.” “The Coxon Fund?” I panted. “He has mentioned to her his having told you about it.” “Ah but so little! Do you mean she has accepted the trust?” “In the most splendid spirit—as a duty about which there can be no two opinions.” To which my friend added: “Of course she’s thinking of Mr. Saltram.” I gave a quick cry at this, which, in its violence, made my visitor turn pale. “How very awful!” “Awful?” “Why, to have anything to do with such an idea one’s self.” “I’m sure _you_ needn’t!” and Mrs. Mulville tossed her head. “He isn’t good enough!” I went on; to which she opposed a sound almost as contentious as my own had been. This made me, with genuine immediate horror, exclaim: “You haven’t influenced her, I hope!” and my emphasis brought back the blood with a rush to poor Adelaide’s face. She declared while she blushed—for I had frightened her again—that she had never influenced anybody and that the girl had only seen and heard and judged for herself. _He_ had influenced her, if I would, as he did every one who had a soul: that word, as we knew, even expressed feebly the power of the things he said to haunt the mind. How could she, Adelaide, help it if Miss Anvoy’s mind was haunted? I demanded with a groan what right a pretty girl engaged to a rising M.P. had to _have_ a mind; but the only explanation my bewildered friend could give me was that she was so clever. She regarded Mr. Saltram naturally as a tremendous force for good. She was intelligent enough to understand him and generous enough to admire. “She’s many things enough, but is she, among them, rich enough?” I demanded. “Rich enough, I mean, to sacrifice such a lot of good money?” “That’s for herself to judge. Besides, it’s not her own money; she doesn’t in the least consider it so.” “And Gravener does, if not _his_ own; and that’s the whole difficulty?” “The difficulty that brought her back, yes: she had absolutely to see her poor aunt’s solicitor. It’s clear that by Lady Coxon’s will she may have the money, but it’s still clearer to her conscience that the original condition, definite, intensely implied on her uncle’s part, is attached to the use of it. She can only take one view of it. It’s for the Endowment or it’s for nothing.”