“Why don’t they?” Patience persisted.  If persistency be a virtue, Patience was to be highly commended.

“My dear, who has said that they do not?”

Patience shrugged; as if things had always to be said.  “But, mummy—­”

“Go to sleep now, dear.”  Mrs. Shaw bent to kiss her good-night.

“All the same,” Patience confided to the darkness, “I know they don’t.”  She gave a little shiver of delight—­something very mysterious was afoot evidently.

Out on the landing, Mrs. Shaw found Pauline waiting for her.  “Come into your room, mother, please, I’ve started up the fire; I want to tell you something.”

“I thought as much,” her mother answered.  She sat down in the big armchair and Pauline drew up before the fire.  “I’ve been expecting it all the evening.”

Pauline dropped down on the floor, her head against her mother’s knee.  “This family is dreadfully keen-sighted.  Mother dear, please don’t be angry—­” and Pauline made confession.

When she had finished, Mrs. Shaw sat for some moments, as her husband had done, her eyes on the fire.  “You told him that we could not manage it, Pauline?” she said at last.  “My dear, how could you!”

“But, mother dear, I was—­desperate; something has to be done for—­Hilary, and I had to do it!”

“Do you suppose your father and I do not realize that quite as well as you do, Pauline?”

“You and I have talked it over and over, and father never says—­anything.”

“Not to you, perhaps; but he is giving the matter very careful consideration, and later he hopes—­”

“Mother dear, that is so indefinite!” Pauline broke in.  “And I can’t see—­Father is Uncle Paul’s only brother!  If I were rich, and Hilary were not and needed things, I would want her to let me know.”

“It is possible, that under certain conditions, Hilary would not wish you to know.”  Mrs. Shaw hesitated, then she said slowly, “You know, Pauline, that your uncle is much older than your father; so much older, that he seemed to stand—­when your father was a boy—­more in the light of a father to him, than an older brother.  He was much opposed to your father’s going into the ministry, he wanted him to go into business with him.  He is a strong-willed man, and does not easily relinquish any plan of his own making.  It went hard with him, when your father refused to yield; later, when your father received the call to this parish, your uncle quite as strongly opposed his accepting it—­burying himself alive in a little out-of-the-way hole, he called it.  It came to the point, finally, on your uncle’s insisting on his making it a choice between himself and Winton.  He refused to ever come near the place and the two or three letters your father wrote at first remained unanswered.  The breach between them has been one of the hardest trials your father has had to bear.”