Maria seemed to have relapsed into thought. She made no reply. Presently Charlotte began again. "I wish I had my dogs here! Lady Godolphin would not extend the invitation even to King Charlie. She said she did not like dogs. What a heathen she must be! If I could only see my darling pet, King Charlie! Kate never mentioned him once in her letter this morning!" The words aroused Maria to animation. "Did you receive a letter this morning from Prior's Ash? You did not tell me." "Margery brought it to my bedroom. It came last night, I fancy, and lay in the letter-box. I do not think Sir George ought to keep that letter-box entirely under his own control," continued Charlotte. "He grows forgetful. Some evenings I know it is never looked at." "I have not observed that Sir George is forgetful," dissented Maria. "You observe nothing. I say that Sir George declines daily: both bodily and mentally. I see a great difference in him, even in the short time that we have been here. He is not the man he was." "He has his business letters regularly; and answers them." "Quite a farce to send them," mocked handsome Charlotte. "Thomas Godolphin is ultra-filial." "What news does Mrs. Verrall give you?" inquired Maria. "Not much. Sarah Anne Grame is out of immediate danger, and the fever has attacked two or three others." "In Lady Sarah's house?" "Nonsense! No. That sickly girl, Sarah Anne, took it because I suppose she could not help it: but there's not much fear of its spreading to the rest of the house. If they had been going to have it, it would have shown itself ere this. It has crept on to those pests of cottages by the Pollards. The Bonds are down with it." "The worst spot it could have got to!" exclaimed Maria. "Those cottages are unhealthy at the best of times." "They had a dinner-party on Saturday," continued Charlotte. "At the cottages!" Charlotte laughed. "At Ashlydyat. The Godolphins were there. At least, she mentioned Bessy, and your chosen cavalier, Mr. George." Maria's cheek flushed crimson. Charlotte Pain was rather fond of this kind of satire. Had she believed there was anything serious between George Godolphin and Maria, she would have bitten her tongue out rather than allude to it. It was not Charlotte's intention to spare him to Maria Hastings. Charlotte Pain at length settled herself to her desk. Maria drew nearer to the fire, and sat looking into it, her cheek leaning on her hand: sat there until the dusk of the winter's afternoon fell upon the room. She turned to her companion. "Can you see, Charlotte?" "Scarcely. I have just finished." A few minutes, and Charlotte folded her letters. Two. The one was directed to Mrs. Verrall; the other to Rodolf Pain, Esquire. "I shall go up to dress," she said, locking her desk. "There's plenty of time," returned Maria. "I wonder where Sir George and Lady Godolphin are? They did not intend to stay out so late."