Heartsease; Or, The Brother's Wife

CHAPTER 13

It was an early season, and Theodora had not been a fortnight at her brother’s before numerous arrivals necessitated a round of visits, to which she submitted without more than moderate grumbling. The first call was on the Rickworth ladies; but it was not a propitious moment, for other visitors were in the drawing-room, and among them Miss Marstone. Emma came to sit by Violet, and was very anxious to hear whether she had not become intimate with Theresa. Violet could not give a good account of herself in this respect; their hours did not suit, and they had only twice met.

‘And is she not delightful?’

‘She is a very superior person’ said Violet, looking down. ‘Do you know her sisters? I liked one of them.’

‘We shall have to call on them, but they are mere ordinary girls—no companions to Theresa. She laments it very much, and has had to make a line for herself. I must come and tell you about it some morning. It is nonsense to meet in this way and think of conversation.

Theodora had, in the meantime, had the exclusive attention of Miss Marstone. ‘So Emma is constant to the Prae-Raffaelite,’ said Theodora, as they drove from the door. ‘What is all this about the Priory?’

‘Did Miss Marstone talk about that?’ said Violet, aghast.

‘She said something about a restoration. What! is it a secret?’

‘I suppose she thought you must know it, since I did. I was much surprised by her beginning about it to me, for when Emma first mentioned it to me, Lady Elizabeth seemed vexed, and begged me never to hint at it.’

‘So Emma wants to make restitution. Well done, little Emma! I did not think it was in her.’

‘It has been her darling scheme for years; but Lady Elizabeth has made her promise to wait till she is five-and-twenty, and not to consider herself pledged.’

‘How like Lady Elizabeth! One respects her like an institution! I hope Emma may hold out, but she has a firebrand in her counsels. I am glad you are not infatuated.’

‘I am sure I don’t know what I think of Miss Marstone. I cannot like her; yet I want to admire her—she is so good.’

‘Let her be as good as she pleases; why should she be silly?’

‘Oh! she is very clever.’

‘When good and clever people are silly, they are the biggest simpletons of all.’

‘Then I don’t think I quite know what you mean by silliness.’

‘Not turning one’s sense to the best advantage, I suppose,’ said Theodora. ‘That Miss Marstone provokes me. If her principles were not right I should not care; but when she has sound views, to see her go on talking, with no reserve, only caring for what is out of the way, it makes one feel oneself turned to ridicule. How can Lady Elizabeth endure it?’

‘I don’t think she likes it, but Emma is so fond of her!’

‘Oh! as to Emma, her poor little imagination is dazzled. It is providential that she has four years to wait! Unless, indeed, there is a reaction, and she marries either a broken-down fox-hunter or a popular preacher.’

Violet’s horrified protests were cut short by the carriage stopping. In returning, they called at Mrs. Finch’s house, to inquire when the family were expected to return from Paris. They had arrived that morning, and Violet said she would make a short visit, and then go home and send the carriage back, but Theodora preferred walking home.

As they were announced, Mrs. Finch started up from a gilded sofa on which she had been reclining, reading a French brochure. Her dress was in the excess of the newest Parisian fashion, such as even to London eyes looked outre, and, as well as her hair, had the disordered look of being just off a journey. Her face had a worn aspect, and the colour looked fixed. Theodora, always either rigidly simple or appropriately splendid, did not like Violet to see her friend in such a condition, and could almost have shrunk from the eager greeting. ‘Theodora Martindale! This is delightful! It is a real charity to look in on us to-day! Mrs. Martindale, how are you? You look better than last time I saw you. Let me introduce you to Mr. Finch.’

Mr. Finch was a little dried-up man, whose ceremonious bow put Violet in mind of the Mayor of Wrangerton. Bending low, he politely gave her a chair, and then subsided into oblivion; while Miss Gardner came forward, as usual, the same trim, quiet, easy-mannered person, and began to talk to Violet, while Mrs. Finch was loudly conversing with Theodora.

The apartment was much in the same style as the lady’s dress, full of gilding and bright colour, expensive, but not producing a good effect; especially as the sofa had been dragged forward to the fire, and travelling gear and newspapers lay about untidily. Altogether there was something unsatisfactory to the feelings of both Theodora and Violet, though Mrs. Finch was very affectionate in her impetuous way, and Miss Gardner gently kind to Violet, asking many questions about her little boy.

Violet soon took leave, and Mr. Finch went down with her to the carriage.

‘That is a fresh complexion that does one good to see!’ cried Mrs. Finch, when she was gone. ‘I am glad to see her in better looks and spirits.’

‘She understands the art of dress,’ said Miss Gardner. Theodora was on the point of making a sharp answer. It was the consequence of having once allowed her brother’s wife to be freely canvassed, and she was glad that an opening door checked the conversation.

There entered a tall fashionable-looking man, with a glossy brown moustache, and a very hairy chin, but of prepossessing and gentlemanlike appearance. He leant over the sofa, and said a few words in a low voice to Mrs. Finch, who answered with nods, and a display of her white teeth in smiles. Raising himself, as if to go, he said, ‘Ah! by the bye, who is that pretty friend of yours that I met Finch escorting down-stairs? A most uncommon style of beauty—’

‘That was Mrs. Martindale,’ said Miss Gardner, rather in haste.

‘Arthur Martindale’s village maid? Ha! Jane, there’s jealousy; I thought you told me—’

‘Georgina!’ exclaimed Jane, ‘you should have introduced Mark to Miss Martindale.’

As Theodora moved her stately neck she felt as if a thunder-bolt had fallen; but the gentleman’s manner was particularly pleasing.

‘It is Jane’s concern,’ said Mrs. Finch, laughing. ‘I leave you to infer why she checks his communications.’

‘There is nothing more awkward than “You told me so,”’ said Mr. Gardner, ‘since the days of “Who is your next neighbour, sir?” I may be allowed some interest in the matter, for your brother is an old school-fellow of mine.’

‘Come!’ exclaimed Georgina, ‘if you stay dawdling here, my letter won’t be written, and my vases won’t come. Fancy, Theodora, such delicious Sevres vases, big enough to hold the Forty Thieves, sky blue, with medallions of Mars and Venus, and Cupids playing tricks—the loveliest things imaginable—came from Versailles—absolutely historical.’

‘Lauzun is supposed to have been hidden in one,’ said Mr. Gardner.

‘I vowed I would have them, and I never fail. Mark has been through fire and water for them.’

‘And I suppose they cost—’ said Theodora.

‘The keep of half-a-dozen starving orphans,’ said Mrs. Finch, triumphantly. ‘Ay, you may look, Theodora; but they are my trophies.’

‘I wish you joy of them,’ said Theodora.

‘So you shall, when you see them; and that she may, off with you, Mark, or the post will go.’

‘My cousin is a despot,’ said Mark, moving off, with a bow to Theodora; Mrs. Finch, following, spoke a few words, and then shut him into the other room.

‘Poor Mark’’ said Jane, in the interval. ‘We have brought him home. He has had a little property left him, and means to clear off his debts and make a fresh beginning. His poor mother is so delighted!’

‘The coast is clear,’ said Mrs. Finch, returning. ‘Now, Theodora, is it true that you are going to be married?’

Point blank questions did not excite Theodora’s blushes; and she composedly answered,

‘Some time or other.’

‘There! I knew it could not be true,’ cried Jane.

‘What is not true?’ said Theodora.

‘Not that you are going to have the curate!’ said Mrs. Finch. ‘Jane, Jane, that has brought the rouge! Oh! I hope and trust it is not the curate.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Theodora, in a grave deliberate voice.

‘That’s a mercy!’ said Mrs. Finch. ‘I had not the slightest confidence in you. I always reckoned on your making some wild choice. Oh! by the bye, do tell me where Percy Fotheringham is to be found. I must have him at our first party. What a charming book that is!’

‘Even at Paris every one is full of it, already,’ said Jane. ‘I feel quite jealous of you, Theodora, for knowing him so well, when we, his cousins, never saw him at all.’

‘Cousins in royal fashion,’ said Theodora, glad that the blush had begun for Mr. Wingfield. ‘What is the exact connection?’

‘You explain, Jane; it is past me. I am content to count kindred with the royal beast.’

‘Lady Fotheringham, his uncle’s wife, is sister to Mark’s mother, my uncle’s wife,’ said Jane. ‘There! I trust that is lucidly done.’

‘That is all, is it?’ said Theodora.

‘Enough for the sending of a card. Tell me where, if you know.’

Theodora named the place.

‘Does he show off well? Mark says he has claws—’

‘I have known him too long to tell how he appears to strangers,’ said Theodora, as the colour mounted again.

‘Do you see much of him?’

‘He comes to Arthur’s house.’

‘You have ventured there?’ said Jane. ‘It was hard not to be able to come for the season otherwise.’

‘I came up to bring the dumb boy to the Asylum. I am staying on because I like it.’

‘Do you mean to go out with her?’

‘When she goes, I do so too, but I am not come for the season. My brother’s regiment is ordered to Windsor, and perhaps I may stay to be with her.’

‘She has more manner than last year,’ said Jane: ‘she is greatly improved in looks. You will believe me, Theodora, all I said to Mark only referred to her paleness.’

‘It won’t do, Jane,’ said her sister; ‘you only make it worse. I see how it is; Theodora has found out that her sister-in-law is a pretty little pet of a thing that does her no harm, and you have got into the wrong box by flattering her first dislike. Yes, yes, Theodora, we know Jane of old; and never could get her to see the only safe way is to tell one’s mind straight out.’

‘I don’t see it established that I did not tell Theodora my real mind,’ said Jane, quietly; ‘I always thought Mrs. Martindale pretty and elegant—’

‘Self-evident,’ said Georgina; ‘but if I had been among you, would not I have told Theodora the poor child was cowed by her dignities, and Mrs. Nesbit and all the rest? Oh, I would have made much of her, and brought her forward. She should have been my queen of Violets: I would have done it last year if that unlucky baby had not come in the way.’

‘And now she does not need patronage,’ said Jane.

‘No; and now Theodora has found her out for herself—a better thing,’ said Mrs. Finch. ‘You look all the better for it! I never saw you look so bright or so handsome, Theodora! You are a happy girl!’—and there was a sigh. Some interruption here occurring, Theodora took her leave, and walked home. She felt ruffled by her visit, and as she came indoors, ran up-stairs and knocked at her sister’s door. The room looked cool and pleasant, and Violet was lying down in her white, frilled dressing-gown, so freshly, purely, delicately neat, and with so calm and sweet a smile, that the contrast marked itself strongly, and Theodora thought no one ever looked more innocent and engaging. ‘I hope you are not tired?’

‘Oh, no; I only thought it wiser to rest, thank you.’

‘I came to tell you that Georgina Finch wants us to go to a party next Tuesday week. There’s nothing to prevent it, is there?’

‘I know of nothing; but Arthur will say—’

‘We are to bring Percy. I meant to have told them of our affair; but I did not think they deserved it just then. I am glad he is no real relation to that Mr. Gardner.’

‘Was it Mr. Gardner who met me going down-stairs?’ said Violet, with an unpleasant recollection of having been stared at. ‘Is he their brother?’

‘No; their cousin. I wonder what you think of them?’ said Theodora, hastily throwing aside her bonnet and gloves, and seating herself.

‘Miss Gardner is very good-natured and pleasing.’

‘Those words are made for her. But what of Georgina?’

‘I hardly know her,’ said Violet, hesitating. ‘This is only the second time I have seen her; and last year I was so unwell that her liveliness was too much for me.’

‘Overpowering,’ said Theodora. ‘So people say. It is time she should steady; but she will not think. I’m provoked with her. I did not like her looks to-day, and yet she has a good warm heart. She is worth a dozen Janes! Don’t prefer Jane to her, whatever you do, Violet!’ Then breaking off, she began earnestly: ‘You see, Violet, those are my oldest friends; I never could care for any girl but Georgina, and we have done such things together as I never can forget. They had great disadvantages; a set of wretched governesses—one worse than the other, and were left entirely to their mercy. My education was no pattern; but it was a beauty to theirs, thanks to my father. I do believe I was the only person with any serious notions that Georgina ever came in contact with, in all her growing up. Their father died just as she was coming out, leaving very little provision for them; and they were shifted about among fine relations, who only wanted to get rid of them, and gave them to understand they must marry for a home.’

‘Poor girls! What a miserable life!’

‘Jane knew she was no beauty, and took to the obliging line. She fawns, and is intimate and popular. I never liked her silkiness, though it creeps into one at the time. Georgina had more in her. I wish you could have seen her at eighteen. She was such a fine, glowing, joyous-looking girl, with those bright cheeks, and her eyes dancing and light hair waving, and exuberant spirits that no neglect or unkindness could daunt—all wild gaiety, setting humbug at defiance, and so good-natured! Oh! dear, it makes one melancholy!’

‘And what made the change?’

‘She had a long, low, nervous fever, as they called it; but I have never known much about it, for it was when we were all taken up with John’s illness. She was very long in recovering, and I suppose her spirit was broken, and that the homelessness grew unbearable; for, whereas she had always declared for honest independence and poverty, the next thing I heard of her was, that she had accepted this miserable money-making old wretch!’

‘Perhaps she liked him.’

‘No, indeed! She despises him, and does not hide it! She is true! that is the best of her. I cannot help caring for Georgina. Poor thing, I hate to see it! Her spirits as high as ever, and with as little ballast; and yet she looks so fagged. She was brought up to dissipation—and does not know where else to turn. She has not a creature to say a word the right way!’

‘Not her sister?’ said Violet. ‘She seemed serious and good.’

‘No one can tell what is the truth in Jane,’ said Theodora; ‘and her sister, who knows her best, is the last person to be influenced by her. Some one to whom she could look up is the only chance. Oh, how I wish she had a child! Anything to love would make her think. But there was something in the appearance of that room I cannot get over.’

‘The confusion of arriving—’

‘No, nothing ever could have made it so with you! I don’t know what it was, but—Well, I do think nothing else prevented me from telling them about Percy. I meant it when I said I would stay after you; and they talked about his book, and asked if I saw much of him, and I faced it out, so that they never suspected it, and now I think it was cowardly. I know! I will go at once, and write Georgina a note, and tell her the truth.’

She went, and after a little interval, Violet began to dress for a party at the house of a literary friend of Lady Martindale’s, where they were to meet an Eastern grandee then visiting London. As she finished, she bethought herself that Theodora had never before had to perform a grand toilette without a lady’s maid; and going to her room, found her, indeed, with her magnificent black tresses still spread over her shoulders, flushed, humiliated, almost angry at her own failures in disposing of them.

‘Don’t I look like an insane gipsy?’ said she, looking up, and tossing back the locks that hung over her face.

‘Can I do anything to help you?’

‘Thank you; sit down, and I’ll put all this black stuff out of the way,’ said Theodora, grasping her hair with the action of the Tragic Muse. ‘I’ll put it up in every-day fashion. I wish you would tell me what you do to yours to get it into those pretty plaits.’

‘I could show you in a minute; but as it is rather late, perhaps you would not dislike my trying to put it up for you.’

‘Thank you—no, pray don’t; you will tire yourself.’ But it was spoken with none of the old disdain, and left an opening for coaxing.

‘I used to be thought a good hand with my sisters’ hair. It will be such a treat if you will only let me try,’ said she, emboldened to stroke the raven tresses, and then take the comb, while Theodora yielded, well pleased. ‘On condition you give me a lesson to-morrow. I am not to be maid-ridden all my life,’ and it ended with ‘Thank you! That is comfortable. You came in my utmost need. I am only ashamed of having troubled you.’

‘Don’t say so. I am so much obliged to you for letting me try. It is more like being at home with you,’ murmured Violet, turning away; but her voice as well as the glass betrayed her tearful eyes, and Theodora’s sensation was a reward for her pride having slumbered and allowed her to accept a service.

Mr. Fotheringham came to dinner that he might go with them to the party. As they were drinking coffee before setting out, Mrs. Finch’s invitation was mentioned.

‘You had better leave your card for her, Percy,’ said Theodora. He made no answer.

‘Will you dine with us first and go?’ said Violet.

Thank you; I do not mean to visit them.’

‘No!’ exclaimed Theodora. ‘They are connections!’

‘The more cause for avoiding them.’

‘I have promised to introduce you.’

‘I am afraid you reckoned without your host.’

‘Ha!’ cried Arthur, ‘the lion is grown coquettish with fine feeding. He is not easy of leading.’

‘She is my greatest friend,’ said Theodora, as if it was conclusive; but Percy only answered, I should be very sorry to believe so,’ set down his cup, and began to read the paper. She was the more irritated. ‘Percy,’ she said, ‘do you really not intend to go to the party!’

‘Certainly not.’

‘Not to visit a relation of your own, and my most intimate friend, when it is my especial desire?’

‘You do not know what you are talking of,’ he answered, without raising his eyes.

‘Percy!’ exclaimed Theodora, her pride and affection so mortified that she forgot that Arthur was looking on with mischievous glee, ‘have you any reason for this neglect?’

‘Of course I have,’ said he, reading on.

‘Then let me hear it.’

‘You force it from me, Theodora,’ said Percy, laying down the paper: ‘it is because I will not enter into any intercourse I can avoid with persons whose conduct I disapprove.’

Violet coloured and shrank closer to her husband. Theodora’s face and neck turned almost crimson, and her eyes sparkled, but her voice only showed unmoved disdain. ‘Remember, she is my FRIEND.’

‘You do not know her history, or you would not call her so.’

‘I do. What is there to be ashamed of?’

‘I see, you know nothing of the prior attachment,’ said Percy, not without anger at her pertinacity.

‘A boy and girl liking that had been long past.’

‘O it had, had it?’ said Percy, ironically. ‘So you approve her marrying an old rogue and miser, who had heaped up his hoards by extortion of wretched Indians and Spaniards, the very scum of Mammon, coming to the top like everything detestable?’

‘I never heard his money was ill-gotten.’

‘Those who spend don’t ask whence gold comes. And you justify her keeping the old love, this cousin, dangling about her house all the winter till she is the talk of Paris!’

‘I don’t believe gossip.’

‘Can you deny that he is in London in her train?’

‘He has come into some property, and means to turn over a new leaf.’

‘Ay, and a worse leaf than before.’

‘How can you judge of his resolutions?’

Arthur laughed, saying, ‘I’d not bet much on Mark Gardner’s.’

Much to Violet’s relief, the carriage was announced; the gentlemen walked, and Theodora talked of indifferent matters fast and gaily. Percy handed Mrs. Martindale out, and gave her his arm, leaving Theodora to her brother.

It was a small select party, almost every one known to Theodora; and she was soon in eager conversation at some distance from Violet, who was sorry for Percy, as he stood in silence beside her own chair, vexation apparent on his honest face.

‘Who is that talking to Theodora?’ he presently asked. It was a small light-complexioned gentleman, whose head and face, and the whole style of his dress and person, might have made him appear a boy of seventeen, but for a pale moustache and tuft on the chin. Theodora looked very animated, and his face was glowing with the pleasure of her notice.

‘I cannot tell,’ said Violet; ‘there is Arthur, ask him.’

Percy was moving towards Arthur, when he was caught by the master of the house, and set to talk to the Oriental in his own language. Violet had never been so impressed by his talents as while listening to his fluent conversation in the foreign tongue, making the stranger look delighted and amused, and giving the English audience lively interpretations, which put them into ready communication with the wonder at whom they had hitherto looked in awkwardness. Theodora did not come near the group, nor seem to perceive Violet’s entreating glances; and when the Eastern prince departed, Percy had also disappeared. Violet was gratified by the ladies around her descanting on his book and his Syriac, and wished Theodora could hear them.

At that moment she found Theodora close to her, presenting Lord St. Erme to Mrs. Arthur Martindale! After so much dislike to that little insignificant light man for being the means of vexing Percy, to find him the poet hero, the feudal vision of nobility, the Lord of Wrangerton! What an adventure for her mother to hear of!

It was a pleasant and rather pretty face when seen near, with very good blue eyes, and an air of great taste and refinement, and the voice was very agreeable, as he asked some question about the Eastern prince. Violet hardly knew what she answered.

‘I met him yesterday, but it was flat,’ he said. ‘They had a man there whose Syriac was only learnt from books, and who could not understand him. The interpreter to-night was far more au-fait—very clever he seemed. Who was he?’

‘Mr. Fotheringham,’ said Theodora.

‘The Crusader? Was it, indeed?’ said Lord St. Erme, eagerly. ‘Is he here? I wish particularly to make his acquaintance.’

‘I believe he is gone,’ said Violet, pitying the unconscious victim, and at once amused, provoked, and embarrassed.

‘You know him?’

Violet marvelled at the composure of Theodora’s reply. ‘Yes, my eldest brother was his travelling companion.’

‘Is it possible? Your brother the “M” of the book?’ exclaimed the young Earl, with enthusiastic delight and interest. ‘I never guessed it! I must read it again for the sake of meeting him.’

‘You often do meet him there,’ said Theodora, ‘as my sister can testify. She was helping him to revise it last summer at Ventnor.’

‘I envy you!’ cried Lord St. Erme; ‘to go through such a book with such a companion was honour indeed!’

‘It was delightful,’ said Violet.

‘Those are such delicious descriptions,’ proceeded he. ‘Do you remember the scene where he describes the crusading camp at Constantinople? It is the perfection of language—places the whole before you—carries you into the spirit of the time. It is a Tasso unconscious of his powers, borne along by his innate poetry;’ then pausing, ‘surely you admire it, Miss Martindale?’

‘O, yes,’ said Theodora, annoyed at feeling a blush arising. The Earl seemed sensible of a check, and changed his tone to a sober and rather timid one, as he inquired after Mr. Martindale. The reply was left to Violet.

‘He has never been so well in his life. He is extremely busy, and much enjoys the beauty of the place.’

‘I suppose it is very pretty,’ said Lord St. Erme.

‘Nothing can be more lovely than the colour of the sea, and the wonderful foliage, and the clearness. He says all lovers of fine scenery ought to come there.’

‘Scenery can hardly charm unless it has a past,’ he replied.

‘I can controvert that,’ said Theodora.

With much diffidence he replied: ‘I speak only of my own feeling. To me, a fine landscape without associations has no soul. It is like an unintellectual beauty.’

‘There are associations in the West Indies,’ said Theodora.

‘Not the most agreeable,’ said Lord St. Erme.

‘There is the thought of Columbus,’ said Violet, ‘his whole character, and his delight as each island surpassed the last.’

‘Now, I have a fellow-feeling for the buccaneers,’ said Theodora. ‘Bertram Risingham was always a hero of mine. I believe it is an ancestral respect, probably we are their descendants.’

Violet wondered if she said so to frighten him.

‘“Rokeby” has given a glory to buccaneering,’ he replied. ‘It is the office of poetry to gild nature by breathing a soul into her. It is what the Americans are trying to do for their new world, still turning to England as their Greece.’

‘I meant no past associations,’ said Theodora, bluntly. ‘John carries his own with him.’

‘Yes; all may bear the colour of the imagination within.’

‘And of the purpose,’ said Theodora. ‘It is work in earnest, no matter where, that gives outward things their interest. Dreaming will never do it. Working will.’

Their conversation here closed; but Theodora said as they went home: ‘What did you think of him, Violet?’

‘He looks younger than I expected.’

‘He would be good for something if he could be made to work. I long to give him a pickaxe, and set him on upon the roads. Then he would see the beauty of them! I hate to hear him maunder on about imagination, while he leaves his tenantry to take their chance. HE knows what eyes Percy and John see things with!’

‘I am glad to have seen him,’ said Violet, reassured.

‘He desired to be introduced to you.’

‘I wonder—do you think—do you suppose he remembers—?’

‘I don’t suppose he thinks anything about it,’ said Theodora, shortly.

CHAPTER 14

‘Violet,’ said Theodora, the next morning, ‘I want to know if Percy said more to Arthur than to us?’

She spoke with deepening colour, and Violet’s glowed still more, as she answered: ‘Arthur asked him, and he said he would not BEGIN an acquaintance, but that there was no occasion to break off the ordinary civilities of society. He accused her of no more than levity. Yes, those were Arthur’s words.’

‘I am going to get to the bottom of it,’ said Theodora; ‘and give Georgina a thorough lecture.’

She departed; and Violet sat down to her letters, with little Johnnie crawling at her feet; but in a few minutes she was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Fotheringham, asking for Theodora.

‘She is gone out. She could not rest without an explanation from Mrs. Finch.’

‘A proper farrago she will hear,’ said Percy. ‘I found I could settle to nothing, so I thought it best to come and have it out.’

‘I hope she will soon come in.’

‘Don’t let me interrupt you. Go on with your letters.—Ha! little master!’

In his present temper, play with the baby was the most congenial occupation, and he made the little fellow very happy till he was carried off for his midday sleep. Then he tried to read, but seemed so uneasy, that Violet wondered if it would be intermeddling to hint at Theodora’s real views. At last, as if he could bear it no longer, he abruptly said, ‘Mrs. Martindale, do you know anything of these people?’

‘Very little,’ she answered. ‘Theodora was telling me about them yesterday, before you came. I believe she only likes them for old acquaintance’ sake.’

‘Is it true that she used to go out with them last year?’

‘I believe that she did sometimes.’

‘At least, I hope that will not happen again.’

‘No, I should not think it would. I am sure Theodora does not entirely approve of Mrs. Finch.’

‘She defended her through thick and thin.’

‘You shocked her with the suddenness of what you said. She cannot forget the having been happy together as children; but she thinks as you do, and disliked the marriage very much. Before you came, she had been lamenting over Mrs. Finch.’

‘Then, it was pure perverseness!’

‘If I said so, I wonder what you would answer,’ said Violet, with a bright, arch look.

‘I should hear reason,’ said Percy, roughly, as if to repel the sweetness; yet it had a mollifying effect, and he presently spoke with less irritation and more regret.

‘She suspects no evil, and cannot understand any imputation on her friend. She fancies I speak from report, but I have known this fellow, Mark, all my life. His mother is a sister of my Aunt Fotheringham. They wanted me to hunt up an appointment to get him out of the young lady’s way.’

‘Before her marriage?’

‘Ay. When I was last in England, there was a great to-do at the discovery of an engagement between this youth and Miss Georgina. I suppose, considering her bringing-up, she was not much to be blamed. I remember my aunt thought the poor girl harshly dealt with.’

‘O, that must have been the cause of the nervous fever Theodora mentioned. She said she knew no particulars.’

‘She has not been openly dealt with,’ said Percy. ‘They do not dare to let her see their doings.’

‘So the poor thing was tormented into this marriage?’

‘No torment needed. The elder sister did try to warn her that it could not turn out well. I should think the old rogue had found his punishment for his extortions. Fine stories I could tell you of him in South America. Now, am I not justified in keeping clear of them? Let Theodora say what she will, it does not make it right for me to put myself in the way of those great extravagant dinners and parties of theirs, where they want me for nothing but a show-off.’

‘I am sure Theodora will think with you, when she is cooler, and not taken by surprise.’

The clock struck.

‘There, I have an appointment!’

‘I wish you could wait for luncheon. She must come then.’

‘What are you going to do this evening?’

‘I am sorry to say that we dine out; but to-morrow is Sunday, and you will be sure to find us at home.’

He went, and one o’clock came, but no Theodora. Violet had waited ten minutes for luncheon before she returned.

‘I did not know how late it was,’ said she. ‘I wish you had begun without me.’

Then, throwing her bonnet into a chair, and cutting some cake, she proceeded: ‘Such hours as they keep! No one but Jane was up when I came, so I went to her room, and told her I would hear the rights of it.’

‘Were you satisfied?’

‘Georgina has been foolish and unguarded, and the world is very ill-natured. I hate it altogether, from beginning to end,’ said Theodora, with an impatient gesture. ‘Most decidedly,’ she added, ‘Georgina never ought to have married. I forced it from Jane that she had never cared for any one but this Mark. The discovery of his extravagance and misconduct was the real overthrow of my poor Georgina. It was that which brought on her illness; the family were very unkind; and at last weakness and persecution broke down her spirit, and she was ready to do anything to escape.’

‘Poor thing! poor thing!’

‘She had nothing to fall back upon. Oh, if I had but been there! If I had but known it at the time!’

‘Well, and now?’ said Violet, anxiously.

‘The having Mr. Gardner there now? Really, I don’t think she deserves all this abuse. The other matter is entirely passed away. Mr. Finch likes him, and they understand each other fully. Coming to them detaches him from his former habits, and gives him the best chance. His mother is so relieved to know he is with them. If Jane saw anything in the least amiss, she says she would be the first to take alarm, and I do trust her for that, for the sake of appearances.’

‘I suppose it is a question of appearances,’ said Violet, with the diffident blushes of her eighteen years.

‘Is she to throw away the hope of rescuing her cousin, to save herself from spiteful tongues?’ cried Theodora. ‘Not that I suppose Lady Fotheringham means to be spiteful, but Percy hears it all from her, and we know very well that good ladies in the country have a tendency to think every one good-for-nothing that lives in London or Paris, especially their relations. That is all nonsense. If Percy goes by gossip, I don’t. I go by my own observation, and I see there is nothing at which to take exception. I watched her and Mr. Gardner together, and I do declare there was nothing but ease and frankness. I am sure he was more inclined to pay that sort of attention to me. He really is very entertaining. I must tell you some of his stories.’

‘Percy has been here,’ said Violet.

‘Has he?’

‘He waited till twelve, and then was obliged to go.’

Theodora kept silence for some minutes, then said: ‘If he thinks to make me give my friends up, he is much mistaken! You know I had written to Georgina last night. Well, she thought I had come to be congratulated; and if you had but seen the greeting—the whole manner—when she met me! Oh! you would know how impossible it is not to feel for her, with all one’s heart!’

‘Yes, yes. I suppose you could not say anything about this to her. No, of course not.’

‘Not of course at all, if I could have had her alone, but Jane was there all the time. It was a pleasure to see the contrast between her manner and Jane’s. There was soul in her, real hopes I should be happy, while Jane seemed only to think it tolerable, because I might end in being an ambassadress. I will see her again before the party, and draw my own conclusions.’

‘Does she know that Percy will not go?’

‘I know no such thing.’

She was too proud to ask what had passed in Violet’s interview with him, and indeed was ready to take fire at the idea of their affairs having been discussed with her.

She strove to believe herself the offended party, but her conscience was not easily appeased, though she tried to set it at rest by affectionate care of Violet, and was much gratified by Arthur’s stopping her after Violet had gone up-stairs at night, to beg her to stay, while he was at Windsor with his regiment.

‘Thank you, for making me of use,’ she said.

‘I shall come backwards and forwards continually,’ said Arthur, ‘but she must not be alone; I shall be very glad if you can stay, or I shall be driven to have one of the Mosses here.’

‘Oh, no, no! I shall be most happy to stay. I will take every care of her.’

‘Thank you, Theodora; good night. You have got to know her better now,’ he continued, lingering as on that first night to gain some word of commendation of her.

‘Much better,’ said Theodora cordially. ‘One cannot help growing fond of her—so gentle and engaging.’

She was pleased with his satisfaction; and while she owned Violet’s sincerity and sweetness, considered her one of those soft dependent beings formed to call forth tenderness from strong and superior spirits, and gloried in being necessary to her: it almost restored her balance of complacency.

On Sunday afternoon Violet stayed at home with little Johnnie, and the vacant place in the seat at church was filled by Mr. Fotheringham. Many thoughts floated through Theodora’s mind; but whether the better or the worse would gain the advantage seemed rather to depend on chance than on herself. Perhaps she was not yet conscious what were her besetting sins, and thus the conflict was merely a struggle between her feelings for her friend and for her lover.

Arthur walked home with an acquaintance; but Theodora turned from Percy, and threw herself into eager conversation with Lady Elizabeth.

On entering the house, as Violet was not in the drawing-room, Theodora was going up-stairs, when Percy said, in a tone of authority, ‘How long do you intend to go on in this way!’

‘In what way?’

‘Do you wish to keep all our disputes as a spectacle for Arthur’s edification?’

Colouring with shame and displeasure, she sat down with a sort of ‘I am ready’ air, and took off her walking things, laying them down deliberately, and waiting in complete silence. Did she wish to embarrass him, or did she await his first word to decide what line she should take?

‘Theodora,’ he said at length, ‘when I spoke last night, I did not know how early your acquaintance with this lady had begun, or I should have shown more regard to the feeling that arises between old companions. I am afraid I gave you some unnecessary pain.’

This was unexpected; and she could not at once harden herself in displeasure, so that though she spoke not, her countenance was relenting.

‘Did Mrs. Martindale mention what I told her yesterday!’

‘No; she only said you had been here while I was gone to satisfy my mind.’

‘And did you?’

‘I should never have defended Georgina’s marriage if I had known the whole; but the rest of what you have heard is slander.’

‘That is what I came to explain;’ and Percy repeated the history he had before given to Violet, adding a warning of the same kind as John’s against placing Arthur in Mr. Gardner’s way.

‘The point is,’ said Theodora, ‘what construction is to be placed on the present state of things? You and Lady Fotheringham, who have not seen them, take one view; I, who do see them, and who know Georgina intimately, take another, in which I agree with her husband and with the elder sister, who lives with her.’

‘Intimately! When you had no idea of this first affair!’

‘Such follies are not to be published.’

‘You WILL defend them!’ cried Percy, impatiently.

‘Am I to sit quiet when I hear injustice done to my oldest friend?’

‘I wish that unhappy friendship had never begun!’

A silence broken by her coolly saying, ‘Well, what is to come of all this?’

Percy walked about the room and said, ‘What do you mean?’

With a provoking air of meekness she said, ‘I only want to know what you expect of me.’

Excessively annoyed, he sharply answered, ‘To be a reasonable woman.’

‘Well?’ said Theodora, with the same submissive voice. He had recovered himself, and with no further show of temper, he sat down by her, saying, ‘This is folly. We had better say what we mean. You feel strongly with regard to your old playfellow; I cannot think well of her; but while this is matter of opinion, it is childish to dispute. Time will show which is the correct view—I shall be glad if it is yours. The elder sister is a steady amiable person, whom my aunt likes, and that is in their favour. I do not wish you to break with an old friend while we know of no positive charge against her, though I should think there could be little to attract you. For me it is another matter, and I will not.’

‘You will not adopt my friends?’

I will not be talked into it.’

‘I do not understand your principle,’ said Theodora, but without asperity. ‘Why do you decline an acquaintance to which you do not object for me?’

‘The beginning has been made in your case, and I know it is old affection, not present approval. You can’t be hurt by one like her. But for my part, knowing what I do of them, I will enter on no acquaintance; it is a line of which I have resolved to keep clear. She would think herself patronizing a literary man.’

‘Oh! you could not submit to that!’ cried Theodora—‘never. Stay away, I beg of you.’

‘It is for no such nonsense,’ said Percy. ‘But thinking of them as I do, I cannot receive from them the favours which rich folks consider invitations to poor ones. My connection with them makes it all the more undesirable. I totally disapprove their style of conduct, and will not seem to sanction it by beginning an acquaintance, or appearing at their grand dinners and parties. If I had known them before, the case might be different.’

‘I will say no more. You are quite right,’ said Theodora, well able to appreciate the manliness of his independence.

She thought over several times the way of communicating to Mrs. Finch, Percy’s rejection of her invitation, and made some attempts at seeing her, but without success, until the night of the party. Violet had an undefined dread of it, and was especially glad that her husband was able to go with them. It was one of the occasions when he was most solicitous about her appearance; and he was well pleased, for she was in very good looks, and prettily dressed with some Irish lace, that to Theodora’s amusement she had taken off Miss Marstone’s hands; and with his beautiful wife and distinguished-looking sister, he had his wish of displaying woman as she should be.

The room was full, but Violet saw few acquaintance; as Mrs. Finch, with much display of streamer, flounce, jewellery, and shoulders, came to meet them with vehement welcome, and quite oppressed Violet with her attention in finding a seat for her on the sofa.

With a nod and look of gay displeasure at Theodora, she said, ‘So, you have brought me no Crusader, you naughty girl! Where’s your Red Cross Knight?’

‘He would not come,’ said Theodora, gravely.

‘You dare own it! Where’s your power? Ah! you will say it was idleness.’

‘I will tell you another time,’ said Theodora, blushing inconveniently, and Violet, as she felt her cheeks responding, fancied Mrs. Finch must know why.

‘You won’t confess! No, you never tried. If you had once set your mind on it, you would have accomplished it. I always cite Theodora Martindale as the person who cannot be resisted.’

‘You see your mistake,’ returned Theodora. A gentleman here greeted her, then claimed Mrs. Finch’s attention, and evidently by his desire, she turned to Violet, and presented him as her cousin, Mr. Gardner, an old friend of Captain Martindale.

Violet acknowledged the courtesy, but it was in confusion and distress.

‘I am delighted to make your acquaintance,’ was his address. ‘Is Captain Martindale here? I have not seen him for years.’

‘He is in the room,’ said Violet, looking round for him, hoping either that he would come, or that Mr. Gardner would go in search of him, but the conversation continued, though she answered without knowing what she said, till at last he moved away to communicate to Mrs. Finch that Arthur Martindale’s pretty wife had nothing but fine eyes and complexion.

Theodora was satisfied to see a very slight recognition pass between Mr. Gardner and her brother, who was intent on conducting to Violet an officer newly returned from the West Indies, where he had met John. After a pleasant conversation, the two gentlemen moved away, and presently the place next to her was taken by Miss Gardner, with civil inquiries for her little boy.

‘We are so vexed at not seeing Mr. Fotheringham! Georgina is furious. We reckoned on him as the lion of the night.’

Violet had no answer to make, and Jane continued. ‘I have taken Theodora to task. Fame makes men capricious, and he is very odd; but I tell her she ought to have more influence, and I seriously think so. Do you not?’

‘I believe he convinced her,’ said Violet, wishing the next moment to recall her words.

‘Indeed! I am curious.’

‘I believe he thinks it better—fashionable life—’ faltered Violet.

‘He might have made an exception in favour of such near connections! Why, we shall be related ourselves, Mrs. Martindale. How charmed I shall be.’

Violet turned a bracelet on her arm, and could make no response.

‘It is strange enough that we have never met Percival Fotheringham,’ said Miss Gardner. ‘He is an eccentric being, I hear, but our dear Theodora has a spice of eccentricity herself. I hope it will be for the best.’

‘He is an admirable person,’ said Violet.

‘I rejoice to hear it. I had some doubts. The dear girl is so generous, of such peculiar decision, so likely to be dazzled by talent, and so warmly attached to her eldest brother, that I almost feared it might not have been well weighed. But you are satisfied?’

‘O, yes, entirely so.’

‘I am relieved to hear it. In confidence I may tell YOU, it is said in our OWN family, that there is a rough overbearing temper about him. I could not bear to think of dear Theodora’s high spirit being subjected to anything of that kind.’

‘He is abrupt,’ said Violet, eagerly; ‘but I assure you the better he is known, the more he is liked. My little boy is so fond of him.’

‘I am glad. No doubt you have every means of judging, but I own I was surprised at such ready consent. You were behind the scenes, no doubt, and can tell how that determined spirit carried the day.’

‘Lord Martindale gave his consent most readily and gladly,’ said Violet; but Jane was only the more convinced that Mrs. Martindale was as ignorant as ever of family secrets.

‘It was best to do so with a good grace; but I did think our dear Theodora might have looked higher! Poor Lord St. Erme! He would have been a more eligible choice. The family must have been much disappointed, for she might have had him at her feet any day last summer.’

‘I do not think he would have suited her.’

‘Well! perhaps not, but an easy gentle temper might. However, it cannot be helped! Only the long engagement is unfortunate—very trying to both parties. I have seen so few turn out well! Poor Pelham Fotheringham! It is a pity he should stand between them and the baronetcy.’

‘Is he Sir Antony’s son?’

‘Yes; it is a sad affair. A fine tall youth, quite imbecile. He is his poor mother’s darling, but no more fit to take care of himself than a child of five years old. A most melancholy thing! Old Sir Antony ought to set him aside, and let Percival enjoy the estate. Indeed, I should think it very probable he would do so—it would be greatly for the happiness of all parties.’

‘I think it would,’ said Violet.

‘Percival can do anything with the old people, and they will be so delighted with the Martindale connection! Perhaps it is an understood thing. Do you know whether it is?’

‘I should not think so. I never heard anything of it.’

‘Has Theodora ever been introduced to the uncle and aunt?’

‘Never.’

‘Good old folks, exceedingly primitive. Very kind too, and a fine old-fashioned place; but, oh, so dull! All their ideas are of the seventeenth century. It will be a severe ordeal for poor Theodora, but if Lady Fotheringham, good old soul, is pleased with her, I shall expect grand consequences.’

Violet was glad that Miss Gardner was asked to dance. Presently Arthur returned to her side. ‘Tired, Violet?’ he asked. ‘Slow work, is not it? They have a queer lot here. Scarcely a soul one ever saw before.’

‘I was thinking so. Are there not a great many foreigners? I saw some immense moustaches.’

‘Ay. Percy would think himself back in Blue Beard’s country. There is the King of the Clothes Brushes himself polking with Mrs. Finch. Can’t you see?’

‘No! I wish I could.’

‘An economical fellow! Every man his own clothes brush—two expenses saved at once, to say nothing of soap, an article that mayhap he does not deal in.’

‘Oh! hush! you will make me laugh too much. Where ‘s Theodora?’

‘Dancing with Gardner. He seems inclined to make up to her, unless it is a blind.’

‘He said he used to know you at school.’

‘Yes, scamp that he is. I had rather he had never turned up again. He is not worth Theodora’s quarrelling about. I hear she is chattering away like fun. Have you had any one to speak to?’

‘Miss Gardner came to me. She seemed to think Sir Antony might settle his property on Percy instead of on his son. Do you think there is any chance of it?’

‘I wish he would. He could not do a wiser thing. But of course it is entailed—there’s always a provision of nature for starving the younger branches. What does she say to Percy’s absence!’

‘I fancy she guesses the reason, but I don’t know.’

‘He is a lucky fellow, I know!’ said Arthur, ‘to be safe in his bed at home! This evening is a bore, and I wish the whole set were further off, instead of deluding Theodora! I’ll get her away when this dance is over.’

‘Ha!’ cried Mrs. Finch, suddenly stopping in front of them, and disengaging herself from her partner, as she breathlessly threw herself down beside Violet. ‘So there’s Captain Martindale, after all! How exemplary! And my poor Mrs. Martindale, that I told Jane and Mark to take such care of, left deserted to her husband’s mercy!’

‘Suppose she wished for nothing better,’ said Arthur, good-humouredly.

‘I can’t allow such things. Such a monopoly of our Guardsmen after two years’ marriage is beyond bearing! What would they say to you in France?’

‘We don’t follow French fashions,’ said Arthur, his gay tone making his earnest like jest. ‘I am going to take my ladies home. I shall see for the carriage, Violet.’

‘Mrs. Martindale will learn my maxim—Never bring a husband to an evening party. There is nothing so much in the way.’

‘Or that would be so glad to be let off,’ said Arthur, going.

‘You don’t mean to take them away? That is the climax of all your crimes. Quite unallowable.’

‘Many things unallowable are done,’ said Arthur; ‘and I don’t allow her to be over-tired.’

‘“Barbare”,’ began Mrs. Finch, but with a bow, as if it was a compliment, he was gone in search of the carriage. She sat for a moment silent, then said, ‘Well, I must forgive him. I never thought to see him so careful of anything. How happy Theodora seems in your “menage”. Quite a different creature; but perhaps that is from another cause?’

Violet made a little attempt at a laugh.

‘I am glad of it,’ said Mrs. Finch, heartily. ‘It is a horrid stiff place for her at home, is it not? And I am delighted she should escape from it. How she got consent, I can’t imagine; and Theodora has notions of her own, and would do nothing without.’

‘Lord Martindale has a very high opinion of Mr. Fotheringham.’

‘I am not surprised. I read that book—a wonder for me, and was perfectly “eprise”. But I did not think a genius with empty pockets would have gone down at Martindale; and he is a bit of a bear, too, they say, though perhaps Theodora likes him the better for that.’

‘Perhaps she does.’

‘I hope he is worthy of her. He is the great pride of the old folks at Worthbourne. One heard of Percy’s perfections there morning, noon, and night, till I could have hated the sound of his name. Very generous of me to ask him here to-night, is it not? but I wish he would have come. I want to judge of him myself. I could not bear all not to be perfect with Theodora.’

There was little occasion for Violet to speak, Mrs. Finch always kept the whole conversation to herself; but she could not but perceive that though the exaggeration and recklessness of style were unpleasing, yet it really was frank and genuine, and Theodora’s declaration that Georgina was far preferable to Jane was less incomprehensible.

The evening was over, much to her relief; but there remained Theodora’s bold undertaking to tell Mrs. Finch of Percy’s refusal to visit her. Any one else would have let the subject drop, but Theodora thought this would be shabby and cowardly, and was resolved not to shrink from warning her friend.

She found Georgina looking over some cards of invitation, with an air of great dissatisfaction, and almost the first words that greeted her were, ‘Have you a card for Lady Albury’s party?’

‘Yes; I heard Violet ask Arthur if he should be at home for it.’

‘Very strange! We left our cards, I know, yet they never asked us to their party this week, and now seem to have missed us again. I wished particularly to go, for one is sure to meet all that is worth seeing, your knight among the rest. They are prim, strait-laced, exclusive people themselves; but it is a house worth going to.’

‘I did not remember that you knew them.’

‘Oh! yes, we did; we used to be there pretty often when we lived with my Uncle Edward; and it is not that they do not think my poor old man good enough for them, for we went to their parties last year. So, Mrs. Martindale has a card, you say!’

Theodora’s colour rose as she said, ‘Georgina, I am going to say what no one else will tell you. It is not your marriage, but you must take care—’

The crimson of Mrs. Finch’s cheeks, and the precipitation with which she started to her feet, would have disconcerted most persons; but Theodora, though she cast down her eyes, spoke the more steadily. ‘You must be more guarded and reserved in manner if you wish to avoid unkind remarks.’

‘What—what—what?’ cried Georgina, passionately; ‘what can the most ill-natured, the most censorious, accuse me of?’

‘It is not merely the ill-natured,’ said Theodora. ‘I know very well that you mean no harm; but you certainly have an air of trying to attract attention.’

‘Well, and who does not? Some do so more demurely and hypocritically than others; but what else does any one go into company for? Do you expect us all to act the happy couple, like Captain and Mrs. Martindale the other night? You should have brought your own Percy to set us the example!’ said she, ending with a most unpleasant laugh.

‘Georgina, you must not expect to see Percy. He has rigid notions; he always avoids people who seek much after fashion and amusement, and (I must say it) he will not begin an acquaintance while you go on in this wild way.’

‘So!’ exclaimed Georgina. ‘It is a new thing for the gentlemen to be particular and fastidious! I wonder what harm he thinks I should do him! But I see how it is: he means to take you away, turn you against me, the only creature in this world that ever cared for me. Are not you come to tell me he forbids you ever to come near me!’

‘No, no; he does not, and if he did, would I listen?’

‘No, don’t, don’t displease him on my account,’ cried Mrs. Finch. ‘Go and be happy with him; I am not worth caring for, or vexing yourself about!’

The tears stood on her burning cheeks, and Theodora eagerly replied, ‘Have no fancies about me. Nothing shall ever make me give up my oldest friend. You ought to know me better than to think I would.’

‘You are so unlike those I live with,’ said Georgina sadly, as an excuse for the distrust. ‘Oh, you don’t know what I have gone through, or you would pity me. You are the only thing that has not failed me. There is Jane, with her smooth tongue and universal obligingness, she is the most selfish creature in existence—her heart would go into a nutshell! One grain of sympathy, and I would never have married. It was all her doing—she wanted luxuries! O Theodora, if I had but been near you!’

‘Hush, Georgina, this is no talk for a wife,’ said Theodora, severely.

‘I thought you pitied me!’

‘I do, indeed I do; but I cannot let you talk in that way.’

‘I never do so: no one else would care to hear me.’

‘Now listen to me, Georgina. You say you rely on me as you do on no one else; will you hear me tell you the only way to be happy yourself—’

‘That is past,’ she murmured.

‘Or to stand well in the opinion of others! I am putting it on low grounds.’

‘I know what you are going to say—Go and live in the country, and set up a charity-school.’

‘I say no such thing. I only ask you to be cautious in your manners, to make Mr. Finch of more importance, and not to let yourself be followed by your cousin—’

Again Georgina burst into her ‘thorn crackling’ laugh. ‘Poor Mark! I thought that was coming. People will treat him as if he was a dragon!’

‘I know you mean no harm,’ repeated Theodora; ‘but it cannot be right to allow any occasion for observations.’

‘Now, Theodora, hear me. I dare say Jane has been telling you some of her plausible stories, which do more harm than good, because no one knows which part to believe. There was some nonsense between Mark and me when we were young and happy—I confess that. Perhaps I thought he meant more than he did, and dwelt upon it as silly girls do, especially when they have nothing else to care for. Then came the discovery of all his debts and scrapes, poor fellow, and—I won’t deny it—it half killed me, more especially when I found he had been attached to some low girl, and avowed that he had never seriously thought of me—he believed I understood it as all sport. I was very ill. I wish I had died. There was no more to be done but to hate him. My uncle and aunt Edward were horridly savage, chiefly because I hindered them from going to Italy; and Mrs. George Gardner thought I had been deluding Mark! Then Lady Fotheringham asked us, and—it was dull enough to be sure, and poor Pelham was always in the way—but they were kind comfortable folks. Lady Fotheringham is a dear old dame, and I was in dull spirits just then, and rather liked to poke about with her, and get her to tell me about your brother and his Helen—’