“Do you mean that you have not consulted her?  Does Raymond know?  Oh!  Yes, I see I have no right to ask; but, Cecil, for your own sake, I entreat you to consider what you are about, before running into such a frightful scrape!” and Rosamond impulsively caught the hand that was still putting in a letter; but Cecil stood still, not withdrawing or moving a muscle, perfectly impassive.  Rosamond went on more eagerly, “Oh yes, I know you don’t like me—­I’m only a poor battered soldier’s daughter, quite an unworthy associate for a Charnock of the Charnocks; but I can’t help begging you to consider the consequences of sending out invitations to hear this strange woman hold forth in Mrs. Poynsett’s own house, in your husband’s absence.”

“Thank you for your solicitude,” said Cecil, dropping in her envelope the instant the obstructive hand was removed, and going on her way with dignified self-possession; while Rosamond, in a tumult of indignation, which made her scarcely comprehensible, rushed up to her husband at his writing, and poured out her story.

Clio advocating female supremacy in Mrs. Poynsett’s own house, without notice to her!  Should she be warned in time to stop the letters?  Should Raymond be written to?  Rosamond was for both, Julius for neither.  He said that either way would begin a system that could never be forgiven; and that they had better consider themselves as practically at the Rectory, and not interfere.

“How can you be so cold-blooded?” cried she.

“I do not want to do worse harm.  My mother will learn what is to happen sooner or later; and then she can put a stop to it in any way she chooses.”

“I wish she would send in Mrs. Crabtree with her tawse!” said Rosamond.  “But is it right by Raymond to let his wife bring this Yankee muse to talk her nonsense in his very rooms?”

“You have argued with her?”

“Or with a block—­a stock—­a stone!” raved Rosamond.

“Then depend upon it, to inform against her would be far worse than letting any amount of absurdity be talked.  I should like to know how you would get over being so served!”

“Don’t make comparisons, sir!  Poor things! they would not be the worse for a little of our foolishness!”

Things settled themselves according to Julius’s prediction; for Mr. Bowater, coming up with his son Herbert to see his old friend, said, “What grand doings are you having here?  What is Raymond’s wife up to?  Ladies’ conversazione—­that’s a new thing in these parts!”

“I gave such matters up to her,” said Mrs. Poynsett.  “Young people like a little freedom of action; and there are changes in the neighbourhood since I was laid up.”  It was a temporizing speech, to avoid showing her total ignorance.

Mr. Bowater cleared his throat.  “Young folk may like freedom of action, but it don’t always follow that it is good for them.  I hope she won’t get Raymond into a scrape, that’s all—­committing him and herself to a course of lectures by that Yankee woman on woman’s rights.”