The blank which Sydney’s departure left in the life of the household was felt by the master and mistress of Mount Morven—­and felt, unhappily, without any open avowal on either side of what was passing in their minds.  In this way the governess became a forbidden subject between them; the husband waited for the wife to set the example of approaching it, and the wife waited for the husband.  The trial of temper produced by this state of hesitation, and by the secret doubts which it encouraged, led insensibly to a certain estrangement—­which Linley in particular was morbidly unwilling to acknowledge.  If, when the dinner-hour brought them together, he was silent and dull in his wife’s presence, he attributed it to anxiety on the subject of his brother—­then absent on a critical business errand in London.  If he sometimes left the house the first thing in the morning, and only returned at night, it was because the management of the model farm had become one of his duties, in Randal’s absence.  Mrs. Linley made no attempt to dispute this view of the altered circumstances in home-life—­but she submitted with a mind ill at ease.  Secretly fearing that Linley was suffering under Miss Westerfield’s absence, she allowed herself to hope that Kitty’s father would see a necessity, in his own case, for change of scene, and would accompany them to the seaside.

“Won’t you come with us, Herbert?” she suggested, when they had both agreed on the choice of a place.

His temper was in a state of constant irritation.  Without meaning it he answered her harmless question sharply.

“How can I go away with you, when we are losing by the farm, and when there is nobody to check the ruinous expenses but myself?”

Mrs. Linley’s thoughts naturally turned to Randal’s prolonged absence.  “What can be keeping him all this time in London?” she said.

Linley’s failing patience suffered a severe trial.

“Don’t you know,” he broke out, “that I have inherited my poor mother’s property in England, saddled with a lawsuit?  Have you never heard of delays and disappointments, and quibbles and false pretenses, encountered by unfortunate wretches like me who are obliged to go to law?  God only knows when Randal will be free to return, or what bad news he may bring with him when he does come back.”

“You have many anxieties, Herbert; and I ought to have remembered them.”

That gentle answer touched him.  He made the best apology in his power:  he said his nerves were out of order, and asked her to excuse him if he had spoken roughly.  There was no unfriendly feeling on either side; and yet there was something wanting in the reconciliation.  Mrs. Linley left her husband, shaken by a conflict of feelings.  At one moment she felt angry with him; at another she felt angry with herself.

With the best intentions (as usual) Mrs. Presty made mischief, nevertheless.  Observing that her daughter was in tears, and feeling sincerely distressed by the discovery, she was eager to administer consolation.  “Make your mind easy, my dear, if you have any doubt about Herbert’s movements when he is away from home.  I followed him myself the day before yesterday when he went out.  A long walk for an old woman—­but I can assure you that he does really go to the farm.”