‘So you really do not wish for the other sort?’ said Mrs. Frost, half mortified, as if it were a slight to her boy.

‘I don’t know how her father might take it,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, eager to disarm, her.  ’With his grand expectations, and his view of the state of this property, he might make difficulties.  He is fond of expressing his contempt for needy nobility, and I am afraid, after all that has passed, that this would be the last case in which he would make an exception.’

‘Yet you say he is fond of Mary.’

’Very fond.  If anything would triumph over his dislike, it would be his affection for her, but I had rather my poor Mary had not to put it to the proof.  And, after all, I don’t think it the safest way for a marriage, that the man should be the most attractive, and the woman the most—­’

‘Sensible!  Say it, Mary—­that is the charm in my nephew’s eyes.’

’Your great-nephew is the point!  No, no, Aunt Kitty; you are under a delusion.  The kindness to Mary is no more than ‘auld lang-syne,’ and because he thinks her too impossible.  He cannot afford for his son to marry anything but a grand unquestionable heiress.  Mary’s fortune, besides, depending on speculations, would be nothing to what Lady Fitzjocelyn ought to have.’

’For shame!  I think better of him.  I believe he would be unworldly when Louis’s happiness was concerned.’

‘To return to James,’ said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly:  ’I am glad that his uncle should have declared his intentions.’

’Oh, my dear, we are quite used to that.  I am only glad that Jem takes no heed.  We have had enough of that!—­for my own part,’ and the tears arose, ’I never expect that poor Oliver will think he has done enough in my lifetime.  These things do so grow on a man!  If I had but kept him at home!’

‘It might have been the same.’

’There would have been something to divide his attention.  His brother used to be a sort of idol; he seemed to love him the more for his quiet, easy ways, and to delight in waiting on him.  I do believe he delays, because he cannot bear to come home without Henry!’

Mrs. Ponsonby preferred most topics to that of Mrs. Frost’s sons, and was relieved by the sight of the young people returning across the lawn—­Fitzjocelyn with his ash stick, but owing a good deal of support to Mary’s firm, well-knit arm.  They showed well together:  even lameness could not disfigure the grace of his leisurely movements; and the bright changefulness and delicacy of his face contrasted well with the placid nobleness of her composed expression, while her complexion was heightened and her eyes lighted by exercise, so that she was almost handsome.  She certainly had been looking uncommonly well lately.  Was this the way they were to walk together through life?

But Mrs. Ponsonby had known little of married life save the troubles, and she was doubly anxious for her daughter’s sake.  She exceedingly feared unformed characters, and natures that had no root in themselves.  Mary’s husband must not lean on her for strength.