“She must have been much more gentle this time than she was with Keith.  I had never conceived her capable of being so furious as she was then.  I am very sorry, I wish we could spare her these things.”

“I am afraid that can only be done in one way, which you are not likely at present to take,” said Ermine with a serious mouth, but with light dancing in her eyes.

“I know no one less likely to marry again,” he continued, “yet no one of whom the world is so unlikely to believe it.  Her very gentle simplicity and tenderness tell against her!  Well, the only hope now is that the poor man has not made his disappointment conspicuous enough for her to know that it is attributed to her.  It is the beginning of the fulfilment of Keith’s prediction that offers and reports will harass her into the deed!”

“There is nothing so fallacious as prophecies against second marriages, but I don’t believe they will.  She is too quietly dignified for the full brunt of reports to reach her, and too much concentrated on her children to care about them.”

“Well, I have to see her to-morrow to make her sign some papers about her pension, so I shall perhaps find out how she takes it.”

He found Fanny quite her gentle composed self, as usual uncomprehending and helpless about her business affairs, and throwing the whole burthen on him of deciding on her investments; but in such a gracious, dependent, grateful way that he could not but take pleasure in the office, and had no heart for the lesson he had been meditating on the need of learning to act for herself, if she wished to do without a protector.  It was not till she had obediently written her “Frances Grace Temple” wherever her prime minister directed, that she said with a crimson blush, “Is it true that poor Mr. Touchett is going away for the winter?”

“I believe he is even going before Sunday.”

“I am very glad—­I mean I am very sorry.  Do you think any one knows why it is?”

“Very few are intimate enough to guess, and those who are, know you too well to think it was otherwise than very foolish on his part.”

“I don’t know,” said Fanny, “I think I must have been foolish too, or he never could have thought of it.  And I was so sorry for him, he seemed so much distressed.”

“I do not wonder at that, when he had once allowed himself to admit the thought.”

“Yes, that is the thing.  I am afraid I can’t be what I ought to be, or people would never think of such nonsense,” said Fanny, with large tears welling into her eyes.  “I can’t be guarding that dear memory as I ought, to have two such things happening so soon.”

“Perhaps they have made you cherish it all the more.”

“As if I wanted that!  Please will you tell me how I could have been more guarded.  I don’t mind your knowing about this; indeed you ought, for Sir Stephen trusted me to you, but I can’t ask my aunt or any one else.  I can’t talk about it, and I would not have them know that Sir Stephen’s wife can’t get his memory more respected.”