“She’s the kind of woman ideas sink into if they are well put,” she had remarked in times gone by.  “She’s not sharp enough to see that things are being suggested to her, but a suggestion acts upon her delightfully.”

Her suggestions acted upon Emily as she walked about the gardens at Palstrey, pondering in the sunshine and soothed by the flower scents of the warmed borders.  Such a letter written to Walderhurst might change his cherished plans, concerning which she knew he held certain ambitions.  He had been so far absorbed in them that he had gone to India at a time of the year which was not usually chosen for the journey.  He had become further interested and absorbed after he had reached the country, and he was evidently likely to prolong his stay as he had not thought of prolonging it.  He wrote regularly though not frequently, and Emily had gathered from the tone of his letters that he was more interested than he had ever been in his life before.

“I would not interfere with his work for anything in the world,” she said.  “He cares more for it than he usually cares for things.  I care for everything—­I have that kind of mind; an intellectual person is different.  I am perfectly well and happy here.  And it will be so nice to look forward.”

She was not aware how Lady Maria’s suggestions had “sunk in.”  She would probably have reached the same conclusion without their having been made, but since they had been made, they had assisted her.  There was one thing of all others she felt she could not possibly bear, which was to realise that she herself could bring to her James’s face an expression she had once or twice seen others bring there (Captain Osborn notably),—­an expression of silent boredom on the verge of irritation.  Even radiant domestic joy might not be able to overrule this, if just at this particular juncture he found himself placed in the position of a man whom decency compelled to take the next steamer to England.

If she had felt tenderly towards Hester Osborn before, the feeling was now increased tenfold.  She went to see her oftener, she began to try to persuade her to come and stay at Palstrey.  She was all the more kind because Hester seemed less well, and was in desperate ill spirits.  Her small face had grown thin and yellow, she had dark rings under her eyes, and her little hands were hot and looked like bird’s claws.  She did not sleep and had lost her appetite.

“You must come and stay at Palstrey for a few days,” Emily said to her.  “The mere change from one house to another may make you sleep better.”

But Hester was not inclined to avail herself of the invitation.  She made obstacles and delayed acceptance for one reason and another.  She was, in fact, all the more reluctant because her husband wished her to make the visit.  Their opposed opinions had resulted in one of their scenes.

“I won’t go,” she had said at first.  “I tell you I won’t.”