“Thank you, oh, thank you!” said Ermine, “but indeed it was better for him to be away.”

Even her wish to console that pleading little widow could not make her say that his coming would not have been good for her.  “It has been such a pleasure to hear he had so kind and happy a home all these years.”

“Oh, you cannot think how Sir Stephen loved and valued him.  The one thing I always did wish was, that Conrade should grow up to be as much help and comfort to his father, and now he never can!  But,” driving back a tear, “it was so hard that you should not have known how distinguished and useful and good he was all those years.  Only now I shall have the pleasure of telling you,” and she smiled.  She was quite a different being when free from the unsympathizing influence which, without her understanding it, had kept her from dwelling on her dearest associations.

“It will be a pleasure of pleasures,” said Ermine, eagerly.

“Then you will do me a favour, a very great favour,” said Lady Temple, laying hold of her hand again, “if you and your sister and niece will come and stay with me.”  And as Ermine commenced her refusal, she went on in the same coaxing way, with a description of her plans for Ermine’s comfort, giving her two rooms on the ground floor, and assuring her of the absence of steps, the immunity from all teasing by the children, of the full consent of her sister, and the wishes of the Colonel, nay, when Ermine was still unpersuaded of the exceeding kindness it would be to herself.  “You see I am terribly young, really,” she said, “though I have so many boys, and my aunt thinks it awkward for me to have so many officers calling, and I can’t keep them away because they are my father’s and Sir Stephen’s old friends; so please do come and make it all right!”

Ermine was driven so hard, and so entirely deprived of all excuse, that she had no alternative left but to come to the real motive.

“I ought not,” she said, “it is not good for him, so you must not press me, dear Lady Temple.  You see it is best for him that nobody should ever know of what has been between us.”

“What! don’t you mean—?” exclaimed Fanny, breaking short off.

“I cannot!” said Ermine.

“But he would like it.  He wishes it as much as ever.”

“I know he does,” said Ermine, with a troubled voice; “but you see that is because he did not know what a wretched remnant I am, and he never has had time to think about any one else.”

“Oh no, no.”

“And it would be very unfair of me to take advantage of that, and give him such a thing as I am.”

“Oh dear, but that is very sad!” cried Fanny, looking much startled.

“But I am sure you must see that it is right.”

“It may be right,” and out burst Fanny’s ready tears; “but it is very, very hard and disagreeable, if you don’t mind my saying so, when I know it is so good of you.  And don’t you mean to let him even see you, when he has been constant so long?”