'In your place, Lady Wantley, I should make a personal appeal to Downing. Choose a time when Penelope is out of the way, and tell him the truth--that he does not know her as you know her, and that, even putting aside other and more obvious reasons which should make him pause, you are sure that she would not be happy in the life he has to offer her. Lastly, and most urgently, appeal to him for time. Time,' repeated the old man, with a certain solemnity--'time smooths out many crooked things. But why should I try and prompt you? You will know what to say better than I could tell you. And Downing, take my word for it, is not the man to seize an unfair advantage. Ask him to go away, alone, to give her more time for consideration. Such a serious business as they apparently both regard it--and most creditable it is to both of them that they should do so,' he added in a half-aside--'should not be settled in a hurry. Why, a few weeks ago each didn't know the other lived, and now nothing short will content them but the spending of their whole lives together! Though I have but little belief in its being of any use, I will comply with your request that I should write to him. As to what I say when I do write, you must leave that to me; but be sure that I will do my best.' 'You will write to him? Oh, how can I thank you adequately, my friend--my good friend!' Lady Wantley's eyes filled with grateful tears, and a stifling weight seemed lifted from her heart. She felt that she had accomplished that which she had come to do, and she paid no heed to the admonition, 'Don't count too much on my influence with Downing.' They both stood up, Mr. Gumberg leaning his left hand on his stick, while the other clasped hers in kindly, mute farewell. 'Do you remember,' she asked, rather shyly, 'your first visit to Oglethorpe, when I was a little girl? My mother, my dear, dear mother, was so interested in you. I remember she said you were such a well-behaved and intelligent youth. Of course, I know you came again when we were both older, but when I see you I always think of our first meeting. I saw no young folk at all in those years.' 'No,' said Mr. Gumberg, a little stiffly, 'I have forgotten nothing. Your parents, both then and later, were very kind to me, and I have always felt grateful for my reception at Oglethorpe.' He hesitated a moment, and then added, with an odd little old-fashioned bow over the hand he still held: 'And also for that in later days, at Monk's Eype and at Marston Lydiate.' 'Ah yes,' she said, 'I know how sincere a friendship my husband felt for you. But, as I said just now, I myself prefer to associate you in my own mind with my own home--with my dear father and mother.'