Mr. Wradisley interposed at this point from where he stood, with his back to the fire. “Ah,” he said, “oh,” with a clearing of his throat, “I happened to see Mrs. Nugent in the village to-day, and I certainly understood from her that she would be here.” “You saw her--after I did, Reginald?” said Lucy, in spite of herself. “Now, how can you say anything so absurd, Lucy--when you saw her just before dinner, and Reginald could only have seen her in the morning, for he never goes out late,” Mrs. Wradisley said. Bertram felt that he was a conspirator. He gave a furtive glance at the others who knew different. He could see that Lucy grew scarlet, but not a word was said. “You are mistaken, mother,” said Mr. Wradisley, with his calm voice, “I sometimes do take a little _giro_ in the evening.” “Oh, a _giro_;” said his mother, as if that altered the matter; “however,” she added, “there never was any question about the party; that she fully knew we expected her for; but I wanted her to come for lunch that she might make Ralph’s acquaintance before the crowd came; but it doesn’t matter, for no doubt they’ll meet often enough. Only when you men begin to shoot you’re lost to all ordinary occupations; and so tired when you come in that you have not a word to throw at--a lady certainly, if you still may have at a dog.” “I am not so bent on meeting this widow, mother, as you seem to think,” said Ralph. “You need not always call her a widow. That’s her misfortune; it’s not her character,” said Lucy, unconsciously epigrammatic. “Oh, well, whatever you please--this beautiful lady--is that better? The other sounds designing, I allow.” “I think,” said Mr. Wradisley, “that we have perhaps discussed Mrs. Nugent as much as is called for. She is a lady--for whom we all have the utmost respect.” He spoke as if that closed the question, as indeed it generally did; and going across the room to what he knew was the most comfortable chair, possessed himself of the evening paper, and sitting down, began to read it. Mrs. Wradisley had by no means done with her evening paper, and that Reginald should thus take it up under her very eyes filled her soul with astonishment. She looked at him with a gasp, and then, after a moment, put out her hand for her knitting. Nothing that could have happened could have given her a more bewildering and mysterious shock.