With such words he soothed her, with little compliments and tendernesses as if she had been a child divining many things, and not feeling any of those inclinations to blame which younger husbands exercise so freely. Lord Frogmore was all indulgence for the wife who was young in his eyes, so much younger than himself. He put her into the little carriage when it came, and drove her gently home with all the care of a father. Mary had quite recovered herself by this time, and had arranged her bonnet and looked herself, trim as usual, though a little pale when Gregory came jingling back with the quiet pony and the little cart with which Mary herself drove about the park. And they had quite a cheerful drive home, though Mary’s subdued tones, she who always was so quiet! and paleness were very touching to her old husband. But when they reached the hall door, where her maid and the housekeeper were both waiting, having heard that Lady Frogmore had been ill, and being both of them better instructed women than she, just as she stepped out of the carriage with her husband’s help, smiling and saying it was nothing, there was a childish shout in the hall, and Duke rushing out with a bound, flung himself upon her. “Oh, Aunt Mary, I’ve got something to tell you--I’ve got something to tell you!” cried the boy. “Get away with you, child,” said Lord Frogmore; “out of the way--out of the way. Don’t you see she’s ill?” The color that had been coming back fled out of Mary’s cheeks again. Her eyes once more gave a look of anguish, straight into her husband’s heart. She stopped as if struck to stone, with her foot upon the step. But she did not faint again as they feared. She put out her hand to the boy. “He must not suffer--he must not suffer. Promise me,” she said, with a shudder “that he shall not suffer, Frogmore?”