“Fanny, I want you to tell me what you know of Mr. Gorst.”

Mrs. Eliott looked exceedingly embarrassed.  She avoided gossip as inconsistent with the intellectual life.  And unpleasant gossip was peculiarly distasteful to her.  Therefore she hesitated.  “My dear, I don’t know much—­”

“Don’t put me off like that.  You know something.  You must tell me.”

Mrs. Eliott reflected that Anne had no more love of scandalous histories than she had; therefore, if she asked for knowledge, it must be because her need was pressing.

“My dear, I only know that Johnson won’t have him in the house.”

She spoke as if this were nothing, a mere idiosyncrasy of Johnson’s.

“Why not?” said Anne.  “He has very nice manners.”

“I dare say, but Johnson doesn’t approve of him.” (Another eccentricity of Johnson’s.)

“And why doesn’t he?”

“Well, you know, Mr. Gorst has a very unpleasant reputation.  At least he goes about with most objectionable people.”

“You mean he’s the same sort of person as Mr. Hannay?”

“I should say he was, if anything, worse.”

“You mean he’s a bad man?”

“Well—­”

“So bad that you won’t have him in the house?”

“Well, dear, you know we are particular.” (A singularity that she shared with Johnson.)

“So am I,” said Anne.

“And this,” she said to herself, “is the man whom Edie’s fond of, Walter’s dearest friend.  And my friends won’t have him in their house.”

“Charming, I believe, and delightful,” said Mrs. Eliott, “but perhaps a little dangerous on that account.  And one has to draw the line.  I want to know about you, dear.  You’re well, though you’re so thin?”

“Oh, very well.”

“And happy?” (She ventured on it.)

“Could I be well if I weren’t happy?  How’s Mrs. Gardner?”

The thought of happiness called up a vision of the perpetually radiant bride.

“Oh, Mrs. Gardner, she’s as happy as the day is long.  Much too happy, she says, to go about paying calls.”

“I haven’t called much, have I?” said Anne, hoping that her friend would draw the suggested inference.

“No, you haven’t. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Why I any more than Mrs. Gardner?  But I am.”

Mrs. Eliott perceived her blunder.  “Well, I forgive you, as long as you’re happy.”

Anne kissed her more tenderly than usual as they said good-bye, so tenderly that Mrs. Eliott wondered “Is she?”

Majendie was late that afternoon, and Anne had an hour alone with Edith.  She had made up her mind to speak seriously to her sister-in-law on the subject of Mr. Gorst, and she chose this admirable opportunity.

“Edith,” said she with the abruptness of extreme embarrassment, “did you know that Lady Cayley had come back?”

“Come back?”