“I hope you never will forget it,” he warmly interposed.

“I wanted very particularly to see you.  A strange report was brought here this morning and I determined to mention it to you.  You know what an old-fashioned, direct way I have of doing things; never choosing a roundabout road if I can take a straight one.  This note was a line asking you to call upon me,” she added, taking it from her lap, where it had been lying, and tossing it on to the table, whilst her hearer, his conscience rising up, began to feel a very little uncomfortable.  “We heard you had proposed marriage to Lady Maude Kirton.”

Lord Hartledon’s face became crimson.  “Who on earth could have invented that?” cried he, having no better answer at hand.

“Mrs. Graves mentioned it to me.  She was dining at Hartledon last week, and the countess-dowager spoke about it openly.”

Mrs. Ashton looked at him; and he, confused and taken aback, looked down on the carpet, devoutly wishing himself in the remote regions he had spoken of to Mr. Carr.  Anywhere, so that he should never be seen or recognized again.

“What am I to do?” thought he.  “I wish Mother Graves was hanged!”

“You do not speak, Percival!”

“Well, I—­I was wondering what could have given rise to this,” he stammered.  “I believe the old dowager would like to see her daughter mistress of Hartledon:  and suppose she gave utterance to her thoughts.”

“Very strange that she should!” observed Mrs. Ashton.

“I think she’s a little cracked sometimes,” coughed Val; and, in truth, he now and then did think so.  “I hope you have not told Anne?”

“I have told no one.  And had I not felt sure it had no foundation, I should have told the doctor, not you.  But Anne was in the room when Mrs. Graves mentioned it.”

“What a blessing it would be if Mrs. Graves were out of the parish!” exclaimed Val, hotly.  “I wonder Dr. Ashton keeps Graves on, with such a mother!  No one ever had such a mischief-making tongue as hers.”

“Percival, may I say something to you?” asked Mrs. Ashton, who was devouring him with her eyes.  “Your manner would almost lead me to believe that there is something in it.  Tell me the truth; I can never be anything but your friend.”

“Believe one thing, dear Mrs. Ashton—­that I have no intention of marrying anyone but Anne; and I wish with all my heart and soul you’d give her to me to-day.  Shut up with those two women, the one pretty, the other watching any chance word to turn it to her own use, I dare say the Mrs. Graveses of the place have talked, forgetting that Maude is my cousin.  I believe I paid some attention to Maude because I was angry at being kept out of the Rectory; but my attentions meant nothing, upon my honour.”

“Elster’s folly, Val!  Lady Maude may have thought they did.”

“At any rate she knew of my engagement to Anne.”

“Then there is nothing in it?”