Dennis coloured to his temples, but said nothing. Perhaps he was conscious of shortcoming in Shakespearean enthusiasm, or was aware that he had not shown much exultation over the recent rout of the enemy. Margaret thought he might have said a word or two in self-defence; but what she deemed to be the cause of his silence—namely, that the whole subject of the discoveries was distasteful to him, as being associated, as it certainly was, with William Henry’s success in another matter—was also an excuse for him, and she pitied him with all her heart. To have defended him in his presence to Mr. Erin would, she felt, have been a cruel kindness, since it might have suggested a feeling more tender than pity; but a certain remorse—it was almost an act of penance—compelled her to speak of the matter afterwards to William Henry. ‘My uncle is very hard upon poor Frank,’ she said, ‘about these manuscripts. I am sure that anything that concerns us concerns him, but he cannot be expected to feel exactly as we do in the matter.’ ‘No, I suppose not,’ said William Henry. ‘Well, of course not. It is his way to take things more philosophically than other people. I am sure he looked pleased enough when you confuted Mr. Wallis.’ ‘Pleased, but surprised,’ returned the other, drily. ‘Oh, Willie, that is ungenerous of you!’ ‘I am only stating a fact. His face did not, I admit, exhibit disappointment, but it expressed extreme astonishment. I don’t think as Mr. Erin does about these things, but I think a man should stick to his friends, especially in the presence of those by whom their honesty is called in question. Mr. Wallis noticed it, I promise you.’ ‘There was surely no harm in Frank looking astonished, even if he did,’ said Margaret; then in a more tender tone, as though she had done enough for friendship, she added, ‘I confess, however, I was not looking at him. I was looking at _you_, Willie. How marvellously you kept command of yourself, even when things seemed to be at the worst. Now confess, dear, did you not really know that you would find that document, or something like it, when you went off to the Temple?’ ‘What makes you say that?’ he inquired quickly. ‘Well, only because I seemed to read it in your face. Oh, Willie, you don’t know what I went through while you were away. For though, as you often say, it is no affair of yours whether the manuscripts are genuine or not, yet—— ‘ She hesitated; she evidently found it difficult to put her thought into words. ‘You mean that the question is one that, after all, seriously affects us,’ he put in gently. ‘Well, yes, because you and I are one. Perhaps it was the presence of that scheming Mr. Talbot which made you look so, but the matter seemed somehow to affect you personally. Your own honour appeared to be almost called in question.’ He shook his head, but she went on—