During this protracted, though silent, colloquy, Serena had remained standing in the middle of the room. Now she rustled back to the window, held aside the lace curtain and resumed her contemplation of the fog-enshrouded Green. Good George Lovegrove gazed after her in deep dejection and perplexity. Somebody, it appeared to him, had been extremely unreasonable and disagreeable; but who that somebody was for the very life of him he could not tell. The wife was out of the question; while to suppose it Serena approached high treason. Still he was very sure it could not be that most scrupulously courteous personage Dominic Iglesias. There remained himself--"Yet I wouldn't knowingly vex a fly," he thought, "and as to vexing Serena! Sometimes ones does wish females were not quite so sensitive." Miss Hart, meanwhile, had taken the unaccustomed post of honour beside her hostess upon the sofa. She was enjoying herself immensely. She had a conviction of marching to victory. "Yes," she said, "Mrs. Lovegrove, dear Peachie Porcher asked me just to run across as she has missed your last two afternoons, lest you should think her neglectful. I am well aware I am but a poor substitute for Peachie--no compliments now, Mr. Lovegrove, if you please!" "Mrs. Porcher is in good health, I trust"--this from Rhoda. "At present, yes, I am happy to say, thank you. But how long it will continue," Miss Hart spoke impressively--"at this rate I am sure I cannot tell." "Indeed," George Lovegrove inquired anxiously. "You don't tell me so? Nothing wrong, I trust." "Well, as I always tell her, her sense of duty amounts almost to a fault--so unselfish, so conscientious, it brings tears to my eyes often at times. I hope it is appreciated in the right quarter--I do hope that, Mr. Lovegrove." Here Rhoda's bosom heaved with a generous sigh. "There is much ingratitude in the world, Miss Hart, I fear," she said pensively. Her husband looked at her in an anguish of apology--whether for his own sins or those of others he knew not exactly. "So there is, Mrs. Lovegrove," Eliza responded warmly. "And nobody is a more speaking example of that truth than Peachie Porcher. When I think of all she went through during her married life, and yet so unsuspicious, so trusting--it is enough to melt an iceberg, that it is, Mrs. Lovegrove. Now, as I was saying to her only this morning, 'You must study yourself a little, get out in the air, take a peep at the shops, and have some amusement.' But her reply is always the same.--'No, Liz, dear,' she says, 'not at the present time, thank you. I know the duties of my position as mistress of Cedar Lodge. When any one of our gentlemen is ailing, my place is at home. I must remain in the house in case of a sudden emergency. I should not have an easy moment away from the place,' she says." Miss Hart looked around upon her hearers demanding approbation and sympathy. "Very affecting, is it not?" she inquired.