The communication which Mr. Benthall, in his bluff offhand manner, had made to Walter Joyce, had surprised the latter very much and embarrassed him not a little. Ever since the receipt of Marian Ashurst's letter announcing her intention of marrying Mr. Creswell--ever since the subsequent interview with Lady Caroline, in which she counselled him to discharge the subject from his mind, to encourage new hopes, and to cultivate aspirations of a different kind--Joyce had lived absolutely free from any influence of "the cruel madness of love, the poison of honey flowers, and all the measureless ill." All his thoughts had been given up to labour and ambition, and, with the exception of his deep-rooted and genuine regard for Lady Caroline, and his friendly liking for the Creswell girls, he entertained no feeling for any woman living, unless a suspicion of and an aversion to Marian Creswell might be so taken into account. Had he this special partiality for Maude Creswell, of which Benthall had spoken so plainly? He set to work to catechise himself, to look back through the events of the past few months, noting what he remembered of their relations to each other.

Yes, he had seen a great deal of Maude; he remembered very frequent occasions on which they had been thrown together. He had not noticed it at the time; it seemed to come naturally enough. Gertrude, of course, was engaged with Benthall when he was in town--in writing to him or thinking of him when he was away--and Lady Caroline had to go through all the hard work which fell upon a great lady in society--work the amount of which can only be appreciated by those who have performed it or seen it performed. So that, as Joyce then recollected, he and Maude had been thrown a great deal together, and, as he further recollected, they had had a great many discussions on topics very far removed from the mere ordinary frivolity of society talk; and he had noticed that she seemed to have clear ideas which she understood how to express. What an odd thing, that--what Benthall said--had never struck him before! It must have been patent to other people, though; and that put the matter, unpleasantly, in rather a ridiculous light. After all, though, what was there ridiculous in it? Maude was a very handsome girl, a clever girl, and an unmistakable lady. What a pretty, slight, girlish figure she had!--such a graceful outline!--her head was well posed upon her neck! And Joyce smiled as he found himself drawing lines in the air with the paper-knife which he had been idly tossing in his hand.

And he had Benthall's assurance that the girl cared for him--that was something. Benthall was a man careful in the extreme as to what he said, and he would not have made such a statement where a girl was concerned, and that girl his own sister-in-law, unless he was tolerably certain of being right. His own sister-in-law; he had it then, of course, from Gertrude, who was Maude's second self, and would know all about it. It was satisfactory to know that there was a woman in the world who cared for him, and though without the smallest particle of vanity he accepted the belief very readily, for his rejection by Marian Ashurst and the indignity which he had suffered at her hands had by no means rendered him generally cynical or suspicious of the sex. Marian Ashurst! what an age ago it seemed since the days when the mention of that name would have sent the blood flowing in his cheek, and his heart thumping audibly, and now here he was staying in the old house where all the love scenes had taken place, walking round the garden where all the soft words had been spoken, all the vows made which she had thrown to the winds when the last parting, with what he then and for so long afterwards thought its never-to-be-forgotten agony, had occurred, and he had not felt one single extra palpitation. Mrs. Creswell was staying away from Woolgreaves just then, at some inland watering-place, for the benefit of her health, which it was said had suffered somewhat from her constant attendance on her husband, or Joyce might have met her. Such a meeting would not have caused him an emotion. When he had encountered her in the lane, during the canvassing time, there was yet lingering within his breast a remembrance of the great wrong she had done him, and that was fanned into additional fury by the nature of her request and the insolence with which she made it. But all those feelings had died out now, and were he then, he thought, to come across Marian Creswell's path, she would be to him as the merest stranger, and no more.

If he were to marry, he knew of no one more likely to suit him in all ways than Maude. Pretty to look at, clever to talk to, sufficiently accustomed to him and his ways of life, she would make him a far better wife than nine-tenths of the young ladies he was accustomed to meet in such little society as he could spare the time to cultivate. Why should he marry at all? He answered the question almost as soon as he asked it. His life wanted brightening, wanted refining, was at present too narrow and confined; all his hopes, thoughts, and aspirations were centred on himself. He was all wrong. There should be some one who--the chambers were confoundedly dreary too, when he came home to them from the office or the House; he should travel somewhere abroad when the House rose, he thought, and it would be dull work moving about by himself, and--

What pretty earnest eyes Maude had, and shining hair, and delicate "bred"-looking hands! She certainly was wonderfully nice, and if, as Benthall avowed, she really eared for him, he---- Who was this coming to break in on his pleasant day-dream? Oh, Gertrude.

"I was wondering where you were, Mr. Joyce! You said you wanted your holiday, and you seem to be passing it in slumber!"

"Nothing so commonplace, Mrs. Benthall."

"One moment, why do you call me Mrs. Benthall? What has made you so formal and ridiculous all of a sudden? You used to call me Gertrude, in London?"

"Yes, but then you were an unmarried girl; now you are a wedded woman, and there's a certain amount of respect due to matronhood."

"What nonsense! Do call me Gertrude again, please; Mrs. Benthall sounds so horrid! I should like the boarders here in the house to call me Gertrude, only George says it wouldn't be proper! And so you weren't asleep?"

"Not the least bit! Although I'm ready to allow I was dreaming."

"Dreaming!--what about?"

"About the old days which I spent in this place--and their association!"

"Oh yes, I know--I mean to say----"

"No, no, Gertrude, say what you had on your lips, then! No prevarication, and no hesitation--what was it?"

"No, really, nothing--it is only----"

"I insist!"

"Well, what I mean to say is--of course, people will talk in a village, you know--and we've heard about your engagement, you know, and how it was broken off, and how badly you were treated, and--oh, how silly I was to say a word about it! I'm sure George would be horribly cross if he knew!"

"And did you imagine I was grizzling over my past, cursing the day when I first saw the faithless fair, and indulging in other poetic rhapsodies! My dear Gertrude, it's not a pleasant thing being jilted; but one lives to get over it and forget all about it, even to forgive her whom I believe it is correct to call the false one!"

"Yes, I dare say! In fact, George and Maude both said you didn't think anything about it now, and----"

"Maude! did she know of it too?"

"Oh yes, we all knew of it! The old woman who had been housekeeper, or cook, or something here in the old Ashurst's time, told George, and----"

"What did Maude say about it?" interrupted Joyce.

"She said--I forget what! No! I recollect she said that--that Mrs. Creswell was just the sort of woman that would fail to appreciate you!"

"That may be taken in two senses--as a compliment or otherwise," said Joyce, laughing.

"I'm sure Maude means it nicely," said Gertrude earnestly. Then added, "By the way, I wanted to talk to you about Maude, Mr. Joyce."

"About Maude!" said Walter. Then thought to himself, "Is it possible that the seeds of match-making are already developing themselves in this three months' old matron?"

"Yes. I don't think George mentioned it to you, but he had a talk with Maude, just before our marriage, about her future. George, of course, told her that our house would be her home, her permanent home I mean; and he gave her the kindest message from Lady Caroline, who bargained that at least a portion of the year should be spent with her."

"What did your sister say to that?"

"Well, she was much obliged and all that; but she did not seem inclined to settle down. She has some horrible notions about duty and that sort of thing, and thinks her money has been given to her to do good with; and George is afraid she would get what he calls 'let i' by some of those dreadful hypocritical people, and we want you to talk to her and reason her out of it."

"I? Why I, my dear Gertrude?"

"Because she believes in you so much more than in anybody else, and is so much more likely to do what you advise her."

"She pays me a great compliment," said Joyce, rising, "and I'll see what's to be done. The first thing, I think, is to consult Lady Caroline, who would be sure to give good advice. I shall see her to-morrow, and I'll----"

"See Lady Caroline to-morrow! I thought you were not going back till Saturday?"

"I've just thought of some special business about which I must see Lady Caroline at once, and I'll mention this at the same time. Now, let us find George. Come for a turn."

They found George and went for their turn, and when their turn was over, and Gertrude was alone with her husband, she told him the conversation which she had had with Walter Joyce. The schoolmaster laughed heartily.

"'Pon my word, Gerty," he said, "match-making appears to be your forte, born and bred in you! I never believed in the reality of those old dowagers in Mrs. Trollope's novels, until I saw you."

"Well, I declare, George, you are complimentary! old dowagers, indeed! But, seriously, I wish Walter wasn't going to Lady Caroline!"

"Why, what on earth has that to do with it?"