“I think, aunt,” she said, in a changed voice, speaking as though her opinion had been consulted in the ordinary way, “it will be better for you to sec Mr. Elgar—­if you are willing to do so.”

“Quite.”

“But I must ask you to let him know exactly why I have not granted his request.  You will tell him, if you please, just what has passed between us.  If that does not seem consistent with your duty, or dignity, then I had rather you wrote.”

“Neither my duty nor my dignity is likely to suffer, Cecily,” replied her aunt, with an ironical smile.  “Mr. Elgar shall know the simple state of the case.  And I will forthwith write to Mr. Mallard.”

“Thank you.”

There was no further talk between them.  Mrs. Lessingham sat down to write.  With the note-paper before her, and the pen in hand, she was a long time before she began; she propped her forehead, and seemed lost in reflection.  Cecily, who stood by the window, glanced towards her several times, and in the end went to her own room.

Mrs. Lessingham’s letter was not yet finished when a servant announced Elgar’s arrival.  He was at once admitted.  On seeing who was to receive him, he made an instant’s pause before coming forward; there was merely a bow on both sides.

Elgar knew well enough in what mood this lady was about to converse with him.  He did not like her, and partly, no doubt, because he had discerned her estimate of his character, his faculties.  That she alone was in the room gave him no surprise, though it irritated him and inflamed his impatience.  He would have had her speak immediately and to the point, that he might understand his position.  Mrs. Lessingham, quite aware of his perfervid state of mind, had pleasure in delaying.  Her real feeling towards him was anything but unfriendly; had it been possible, she would have liked to see much of him, to enjoy his talk.  Young men of this stamp amused her, and made strong appeal to certain of her sympathies.  But those very sympathies enabled her to judge him with singular accuracy, aided as she was by an outline knowledge of his past.  Her genuine affection for Cecily made her, now that the peril had declared itself, his strenuous adversary.  For Cecily to marry Reuben Elgar would be a catastrophe, nothing less.  She was profoundly convinced of this, and the best elements of her nature came out in the resistance she was determined to make.

A less worthy ground of vexation against Elgar might probably be attributed to her.  Skilful in judging men, she had not the same insight where her own sex was concerned, and in the case of Cecily she was misled, or rather misled herself, with curious persistence.  Possibly some slight, vague fear had already touched her when she favoured Mrs. Spence with the description of her “system;” not impossibly she felt the need of reassuring herself by making clear her attitude to one likely to appreciate it.  But at that time she had not dreamt of such a sudden downfall of her theoretic edifice; she believed in its strength, and did not doubt of her supreme influence with Cecily.  It was not to be wondered at that she felt annoyed with the man who, at a touch, made the elaborate structure collapse like a bubble.  She imagined Mrs. Spence’s remarks when she came to hear of what had happened, her fine smile to her husband.  The occurrence was mortifying.