For once in her life Eliza Monk allowed herself to betray agitation.  She opened her trembling lips to speak, but closed them again.

“A moment yet, Eliza.  Let us suppose, for argument’s sake, that Mr. Grame loved you; that he wished to marry you; you know, my dear, how utterly useless it would be.  Your father would not suffer it.”

“Mr. Grame is of gentle descent; my father is attached to him,” disputed Eliza.

“But Mr. Grame has nothing but his living—­a hundred and sixty pounds a-year; you must make a match in accordance with your own position.  It would be Katherine’s trouble, Katherine’s rebellion over again.  But this was mentioned for argument’s sake only; Mr. Grame will never sue for anything of the kind; and I must beg of you, my dear, to put all idea of it away, and to change your manner towards him.”

“Perhaps you fancy he may wish to sue for Lucy!” cried Eliza, in fierce resentment.

“That is a great deal more likely than the other.  And the difficulties in her case would not be so great.”

“And pray why, Aunt Emma?”

“Because, my dear, I should not resent it as your father would.  I am not so ambitious for her as he is for you.”

“A fine settlement for her—­Robert Grame and his hundred—­”

“Who is taking my name in vain?” cried out a pleasant voice from the open window; and Robert Grame entered.

“I was,” said Eliza readily; her tone changing like magic to sweet suavity, her face putting on its best charm—­“About to remark that the Reverend Robert Grame has a hundred faults.  Aunt Emma agrees with me.”

He laughed lightly, regarding it as pleasantry, and inquired for Hubert.

Eliza stepped out on the terrace when tea was over, talking to Mr. Grame; they began to pace it slowly together.  Kate and her ball sported on the gravel walk beneath.  It was a warm, serene evening, the silver moon shining, the evening star just appearing in the clear blue sky.

“Lucy being away, you cannot enjoy your usual flirtation with her,” remarked Miss Monk, in a light tone.

But he did not take it lightly.  Rarely had his voice been more serious than when he answered:  “I beg your pardon.  I do not flirt—­I have never flirted with Miss Carradyne.”

“No!  It has looked like it.”

Mr. Grame remained silent.  “I hope not,” he said at last.  “I did not intend—­I did not think.  However, I must mend my manners,” he added more gaily.  “To flirt at all would ill become my sacred calling.  And Lucy Carradyne is superior to any such trifling.”

Her pulses were coursing on to fever heat.  With her whole heart she loved Robert Grame:  and the secret preference he had unconsciously betrayed for Lucy had served to turn her later days to bitterness.

“Possibly you mean something more serious,” said Eliza, compressing her lips.

“If I mean anything, I should certainly mean it seriously,” replied the young clergyman, his face blushing as he made the avowal.  “But I may not.  I have been reflecting much latterly, and I see I may not.  If my income were good it might be a different matter.  But it is not; and marriage for me must be out of the question.”