“You know,” he said, not looking at her, when at last she had for the moment exhausted argument and prophecy, “you have to think of those who will succeed you here; still more you have to think—­of marriage—­before you pledge yourself to the halving of your income.”

Now he must needs look at her intently, out of sheer nervousness.  The difficulty he had had in compelling himself to make the speech at all had given a certain hardness and stiffness to his voice.  She felt a sudden shock and chill—­resented what he had dismally felt to be an imperative duty.

“I do not think I have any need to think of it—­in this connection,” she said proudly.  And getting up, she began to gather her papers together.

The spell was broken, the charm gone.  He felt that he was dismissed.

With a new formality and silence, she led the way into the hall, he following.  As they neared the library there was a sound of voices.

Marcella opened the door in surprise, and there, on either side of the fire, sat Betty Macdonald and Frank Leven.

“That’s a mercy!” cried Betty, running forward to Marcella and kissing her.  “I really don’t know what would have happened if Mr. Leven and I had been left alone any longer.  As for the Kilkenny cats, my dear, don’t mention them!”

The child was flushed and agitated, and there was an angry light in her blue eyes.  Frank looked simply lumpish and miserable.

“Yes, here I am,” said Betty, holding Marcella, and chattering as fast as possible.  “I made Miss Raeburn bring me over, that I might just catch a sight of you.  She would walk home, and leave the carriage for me.  Isn’t it like all the topsy-turvy things nowadays?  When I’m her age I suppose I shall have gone back to dolls.  Please to look at those ponies!—­they’re pawing your gravel to bits.  And as for my watch, just inspect it!”—­She thrust it reproachfully under Marcella’s eyes.  “You’ve been such a time in there talking, that Sir Frank and I have had time to quarrel for life, and there isn’t a minute left for anything rational.  Oh! good-bye, my dear, good-bye.  I never kept Miss Raeburn waiting for lunch yet, did I, Mr. Aldous? and I mustn’t begin now.  Come along, Mr. Aldous!  You’ll have to come home with me.  I’m frightened to death of those ponies.  You shan’t drive, but if they bolt, I’ll give them to you to pull in.  Dear, dear Marcella, let me come again—­soon—­directly!”

A few more sallies and kisses, a few more angry looks at Frank and appeals to Aldous, who was much less responsive than usual, and the child was seated, very erect and rosy, on the driving seat of the little pony-carriage, with Aldous beside her.

“Are you coming, Frank?” said Aldous; “there’s plenty of room.”

His strong brow had a pucker of annoyance.  As he spoke he looked, not at Frank, but at Marcella.  She was standing a trifle back, among the shadows of the doorway, and her attitude conveyed to him an impression of proud aloofness.  A sigh that was half pain, half resignation, passed his lips unconsciously.