“Am I in your way?” she said.  “I shall have done in a moment.”

“No, I am not going to write.  By-the-bye, they tell me you had a letter from Marmaduke this morning.  Has he anything particular to say?”

“Nothing very particular.  He is in Paris.”

“Indeed?  Are you writing to him?”

“Yes,” said Constance, irritated by his disparaging tone.  “Why not?”

“Do as you please, of course.  I am afraid he is a scamp.”

“Are you?  You know a great deal about him, I dare say.”

“I am not much reassured by those who do know about him.”

“And who may they be?  The only person you know who has seen much of him is Marian, and she doesnt speak ill of people behind their backs.”

“Marian takes rather a rose-colored view of everybody, Marmaduke included.  You should talk to Nelly about him.”

“I knew it.  I knew, the minute you began to talk, who had set you on.”

“I am afraid Nelly’s opinion is worth more than Marians.”

“Her opinion!  Everybody knows what her opinion is.  She is bursting with jealousy of me.”

“Jealousy!”

“What else?  Marmaduke has never taken the least notice of her, and she is madly in love with him.”

“This is quite a new light upon the affair.  Constance, are you sure you are not romancing?”

“Romancing!  Why, she cannot conceal her venom.  She taunted me this morning in the summer-house because Marmaduke has never made me a formal proposal.  It was the letter that made her do it.  Ask Marian.”

“I can hardly believe it:  I should not have supposed, from what I have observed, that she cared about him.”

You should not have supposed it from what she said:  is that what you mean?  I dont care whether you believe it or not.”

“Well, if you are so confident, there is no occasion to be acrimonious about Elinor.  She is more to be pitied than blamed.”

“Yes, everybody is to pity Elinor because she cant have her wish and make me wretched,” said Constance, beginning to cry.  Whereupon Lord Carbury immediately left the room.

CHAPTER IV

Long before the harvest was home, preparations were made at Towers Cottage to receive another visitor.  The Rev. George Lind was coming.  Lord Carbury drove in the wagonet to the railway station, and met him on the platform.

“How are you, my dear fellow?” cried the clergyman, shaking the earl’s hand.  “Why did you trouble to meet me?  I could have taken a fly.  Most kind of you, I am sure.  How is your dear mother?  And Constance:  how is she?”

“All quite well, thank you.  Just show my fellow your traps; he will see to them.”

“Oh, there is no need to trouble him.  I myself or a porter—­oh, thank you, I am sure; the brown one with G.L. on it—­and that small green metal box too, if you will be so good.  Thank you very much.  And how are you, Jasper, if I may call you so?  Studious still, eh?  I hope he will be careful of the box.  No, not a word to him, I beg:  it does not matter at all.  What a charming little trap!  What air!  Happy man, Jasper!  These fields are better than the close alleys and garrets to which my profession leads me.”