“This must not go on,” said Lady Blandish and Mrs. Doria in unison.  A common object brought them together.  They confined their talk to it, and did not disagree.  Mrs. Doria engaged to go down to the baronet.  Both ladies knew it was a dangerous, likely to turn out a disastrous, expedition.  They agreed to it because it was something to do, and doing anything is better than doing nothing.  “Do it,” said the wise youth, when they made him a third, “do it, if you want him to be a hermit for life.  You will bring back nothing but his dead body, ladies—­a Hellenic, rather than a Roman, triumph.  He will listen to you—­he will accompany you to the station—­he will hand you into the carriage—­and when you point to his seat he will bow profoundly, and retire into his congenial mists.”

Adrian spoke their thoughts.  They fretted; they relapsed.

“Speak to him, you, Adrian,” said Mrs. Doria.  “Speak to the boy solemnly.  It would be almost better he should go back to that little thing he has married.”

“Almost?” Lady Blandish opened her eyes.  “I have been advising it for the last month and more.”

“A choice of evils,” said Mrs. Doria’s sour-sweet face and shake of the head.

Each lady saw a point of dissension, and mutually agreed, with heroic effort, to avoid it by shutting their mouths.  What was more, they preserved the peace in spite of Adrian’s artifices.

“Well, I’ll talk to him again,” he said.  “I’ll try to get the Engine on the conventional line.”

“Command him!” exclaimed Mrs. Doria.

“Gentle means are, I think, the only means with Richard,” said Lady Blandish.

Throwing banter aside, as much as he could, Adrian spoke to Richard.  “You want to reform this woman.  Her manner is open—­fair and free—­the traditional characteristic.  We won’t stop to canvass how that particular honesty of deportment that wins your approbation has been gained.  In her college it is not uncommon.  Girls, you know, are not like boys.  At a certain age they can’t be quite natural.  It’s a bad sign if they don’t blush, and fib, and affect this and that.  It wears off when they’re women.  But a woman who speaks like a man, and has all those excellent virtues you admire—­where has she learned the trick?  She tells you.  You don’t surely approve of the school?  Well, what is there in it, then?  Reform her, of course.  The task is worthy of your energies.  But, if you are appointed to do it, don’t do it publicly, and don’t attempt it just now.  May I ask you whether your wife participates in this undertaking?”

Richard walked away from the interrogation.  The wise youth, who hated long unrelieved speeches and had healed his conscience, said no more.

Dear tender Lucy!  Poor darling!  Richard’s eyes moistened.  Her letters seemed sadder latterly.  Yet she never called to him to come, or he would have gone.  His heart leapt up to her.  He announced to Adrian that he should wait no longer for his father.  Adrian placidly nodded.