Major Campbell, who was her Mentor as well as her brother’s, had certainly told her so more than once; at which she had pouted a good deal, and cried a little, and promised to amend; then packed up a heap of cast-off things to send to Lucia—­half of it much too fine to be of any use to the quiet little woman; and lastly, gone out and bought fresh finery for herself, and forgot all her good resolutions.  Whereby it befell that she was tolerably deep in debt at the end of every season, and had to torment and kiss Scoutbush into paying her bills, which he did, like a good brother, and often before he had paid his own.

But, howsoever full Valencia’s head may have been of fine garments and London flirtations, she had too much tact and good feeling to talk that evening of a world of which even Elsley knew more than her sister.  For poor Lucia had been but eighteen at the time of her escapade, and had not been presented twelve months; so that she was as “inexperienced” as any one can be, who has only a husband, three children, and a household to manage on less than three hundred a year.  Therefore Valencia talked only of things which would interest Elsley; asked him to read his last new poem—­which, I need not say, he did; told him how she devoured everything he wrote; planned walks with him in the country; seemed to consult his pleasure in every way.

“To-morrow morning I shall sit with you and the children, Lucia; of course I must not interrupt Mr. Vavasour:  but really in the afternoon I must ask him to spare a couple of hours from the Muses.”

Vavasour was delighted to do anything—­“Where would she walk?”

“Where? of course to see the beautiful schoolmistress who saved the man from drowning; and then to see the chasm across which he was swept.  I shall understand your poem so much better, you know, if I can but realise the people and the place.  And you must take me to see Captain Willis, too, and even the Lieutenant—­if he does not smell too much of brandy.  I will be so gracious and civil, quite the lady of the castle.”

“You will make quite a royal progress,” said Lucia, looking at her with sisterly admiration.

“Yes, I intend to usurp as many of Scoutbush’s honours as I can till he comes.  I must lay down the sceptre in a fortnight, you know, so I shall make as much use of it as I can meanwhile.”

And so on, and so on; meaning all the while to put Elsley quite at his ease, and let him understand that bygones were bygones, and that with her any reconciliation at all was meant to be a complete one; which was wise and right enough.  But Valencia had not counted on the excitable and vain nature with which she was dealing; and Lucia, who had her own fears from the first evening, was the last person in the world to tell her of it; first from pride in herself, and then from pride in her husband.  For even if a woman has made a foolish match, it is hard to expect her to confess as much:  and, after all, a husband is a husband, and let his faults be what they might, he was still her Elsley; her idol once; and perhaps (so she hoped) her idol again hereafter, and if not, still he was her husband, and that was enough.