“The sooner the better,” interposed Lady Lundie; “before Blanche picks another quarrel with me on the subject of Miss Silvester.”

Blanche looked at her uncle.  “Begin! begin!  Don’t lose time!” cried the ardent Sir Patrick, pointing toward the house with his cane.  “Certainly, uncle!  Any thing that you wish!” With that parting shot at her step-mother, Blanche withdrew.  Arnold, who had thus far waited in silence at the foot of the steps, looked appealingly at Sir Patrick.  The train which was to take him to his newly inherited property would start in less than an hour; and he had not presented himself to Blanche’s guardian in the character of Blanche’s suitor yet!  Sir Patrick’s indifference to all domestic claims on him—­claims of persons who loved, and claims of persons who hated, it didn’t matter which—­remained perfectly unassailable.  There he stood, poised on his cane, humming an old Scotch air.  And there was Lady Lundie, resolute not to leave him till he had seen the governess with her eyes and judged the governess with her mind.  She returned to the charge—­in spite of Sir Patrick, humming at the top of the steps, and of Arnold, waiting at the bottom.  (Her enemies said, “No wonder poor Sir Thomas died in a few months after his marriage!” And, oh dear me, our enemies are sometimes right!)

“I must once more remind you, Sir Patrick, that I have serious reason to doubt whether Miss Silvester is a fit companion for Blanche.  My governess has something on her mind.  She has fits of crying in private.  She is up and walking about her room when she ought to be asleep.  She posts her own letters—­and, she has lately been excessively insolent to Me.  There is something wrong.  I must take some steps in the matter—­and it is only proper that I should do so with your sanction, as head of the family.”

“Consider me as abdicating my position, Lady Lundie, in your favor.”

“Sir Patrick, I beg you to observe that I am speaking seriously, and that I expect a serious reply.”

“My good lady, ask me for any thing else and it is at your service.  I have not made a serious reply since I gave up practice at the Scottish Bar.  At my age,” added Sir Patrick, cunningly drifting into generalities, “nothing is serious—­except Indigestion.  I say, with the philosopher, ’Life is a comedy to those who think, and tragedy to those who feel.’” He took his sister-in-law’s hand, and kissed it.  “Dear Lady Lundie, why feel?”

Lady Lundie, who had never “felt” in her life, appeared perversely determined to feel, on this occasion.  She was offended—­and she showed it plainly.

“When you are next called on, Sir Patrick, to judge of Miss Silvester’s conduct,” she said, “unless I am entirely mistaken, you will find yourself compelled to consider it as something beyond a joke.”  With those words, she walked out of the summer-house—­and so forwarded Arnold’s interests by leaving Blanche’s guardian alone at last.