“I think the truth is always the best, Lady Ongar.”

“Truth is always better than a lie—­so at least people say, though they sometimes act differently; but silence may be better than either.”

“This is a matter, Lady Ongar, in which I cannot be silent.  I hope you will not be vexed with me for coming to you, or for asking you these questions—­”

“Oh dear, no.”

“But I can not be silent.  My sister-in-law must at any rate know what is to be her fate.”

“Then why do you not ask him?”

“He is ill at present.”

“Ill!  Where is he ill?  Who says he is ill?” And Lady Ongar, though she did not quite leave her chair, raised herself up and forgot all her preparations.  “Where is he, Mrs. Burton?  I have not heard of his illness.”

“He is at Clavering—­at the parsonage.”

“I have heard nothing of this.  What ails him?  If he be really ill, dangerously ill, I conjure you to tell me.  But pray tell me the truth.  Let there be no tricks in such a matter as this.”

“Tricks, Lady Ongar!”

“If Harry Clavering be ill, tell me what ails him.  Is he in danger?”

“His mother, in writing to Florence, says that he is not in danger, but that he is confined to the house.  He has been taken by some fever.”  On that very morning Lady Ongar had received a letter from her sister, begging her to come to Clavering Park during the absence of Sir Hugh, but in the letter no word had been said as to Harry’s illness.  Had he been seriously, or at least dangerously ill, Hermione would certainly have mentioned it.  All this flashed across Julia’s mind as these tidings about Harry reached her.  If he were not really in danger, or even if he were, why should she betray her feeling before this woman?  “If there had been much in it,” she said, resuming her former position and manners, “I should no doubt have heard of it from my sister.”

“We hear that it is not dangerous,” continued Mrs. Burton; “but he is away, and we cannot see him.  And, in truth, Lady Ongar, we can not see him any more until we know that he means to deal honestly by us.”

“Am I the keeper of his honesty?”

“From what I have heard, I think you are.  If you will tell me that I have heard falsely, I will go away and beg your pardon for my intrusion.  But if what I have heard be true, you must not be surprised that I show this anxiety for the happiness of my sister.  If you knew her, Lady Ongar, you would know that she is too good to be thrown aside with indifference.”

“Harry Clavering tells me that she is an angel—­that she is perfect.”

“And if he loves her, will it not be a shame that they should be parted?”

“I said nothing about his loving her.  Men are not always fond of perfection.  The angels may be too angelic for this world.”

“He did love her.”

“So I suppose—­or, at any rate, he thought that he did.”