‘So your father has really conquered his prejudices,’ she remarked. ‘I knew all the time that they meant nothing (poor Alston, he was always feather-brained!), and I did not believe that he would have held out so long. Well, forgive and forget. It does my heart good to see you and Rachel at table together; I am almost inclined to sing _Nunc Dimittis_ at once!’ Something in the exultancy of her voice suppressed my avowal that, overpowered by curiosity and attraction, I had come clandestinely. It was not from kindness that my tongue refused its office, but rather of a dread of how she might act. ‘Did he send any message, any writings?’ she inquired sharply. I shook my head. ‘Ah, the rogue!’ she said. ‘He’s proud of you; he knows that your presence is enough to explain all. Ay, and a very good recommendation to my favour! Alston had ever a little of the diplomatist. Again let me assure you that nobody could be more welcome.’ So the meal passed. Often Rachel turned to me with proudly sweeping eyes, and brought her face so near mine that I could see my reflection in each apple. For one so young her wit was brilliant and sharp-edged, but the vivid outlines of her colouring prevented me from seeing anything unmaidenly in her demeanour. There was depth mingled with unstableness in her character; and although against my will I was allured, I could not help feeling a sort of oppression, as if the air were becoming too heavily perfumed. Two centuries ago she might have shone as a king’s mistress. When I looked at her sister, timid, frail, and shrinking, it was as if a draught of cool air rippled across my temples. Once the child essayed to speak. ‘Cousin Rafe,’ she said softly, ‘will you tell me after breakfast what the world is like. I don’t mean the country or the little market towns, but those places that one reads about. Is Venice like Mrs. Radcliffe paints it in the _Mysteries of Udolpho_?’ Lady Barbara began to laugh rather coarsely. ‘What is the girl raving about?’ she said, turning contemptuously to Rachel. ‘Does she think that at my age I’ve nothing better to do than to listen to puerile descriptions. My dear Rafe, do not trouble with her. Rachel, I wonder you permit his attention to be distracted.’ Great tears rolled down Mary’s cheeks. I was angered. ‘I like to hear her talk,’ I said chivalrously. At this my great-aunt laughed again, but Rachel, with wonderful tact rose and embraced her sister. If she had not done so I believe that I should have hated her. Even Lady Barbara was pleased. ‘You are a good girl, Rachel,’ she said, patting her shoulder. ‘Now, Mary, you must forgive my querulousness.’ She took Rachel’s hand and drew her from the table. As she reached the door she paused.