Saying this, she indicated a seat to Farrel and one to Everard (he did not know if it was with intention that she placed him opposite to the gallery with which he had so many tender associations) and seated herself in the most imposing chair in the room, as in a seat of judgment. There was a considerable tremor about her as she thus, for the first time, personally announced what she had done; but this did not appear to the men who watched her, one with affectionate interest and a mixture of eagerness and amusement, the other with resolute opposition, dislike, and fear. They thought her as stately and strong as a rock, informing her adversary thus, almost with a proud indifference, of the way in which her will had vanquished his, and were not the least aware of the flutter of consciousness which sometimes seemed almost to take away her breath. “I was much surprised, I need not say, by your letter,” said Farrel, “surprised to hear you had been at Bruges, as I know you are not given to travelling; and I do not know how to understand the intimation you send me that my arrangement with our old relative is not to stand. Pardon me, cousin Susan, but I cannot imagine why you should have interfered in the matter, or why you should prefer him to me.” “What has my interference to do with it?” she said, speaking slowly to preserve her composure; though this very expedient of her agitation made her appear more composed. “I had business abroad,” she went on with elaborate calm, “and I have always taken a great interest in these Austins. They are excellent people--in their way; but it can scarcely be supposed that I should prefer people in their way to any other. They are not the kind of persons to step into my father’s house.” “Ah, you feel that!” said Farrel, with an expression of relief. “Of course I must feel that,” said Miss Susan, with that fervor of truth which is the most able and successful means of giving credence to a lie; “but what has my preference to do with it? I don’t know if they told you, poor old people, that the son they were mourning had left a young widow?--a very important fact.” “Yes, I know it. But what of that?” “What of that? You ask me so, you a married man with children of your own! It is very unpleasant for a lady to speak of such matters, especially before a young man like Everard; but of course I cannot shrink from performing my promise. This young widow, who is quite overwhelmed by her loss, is--in short, there is a baby expected. There now, you know the whole.”