Mrs. Hunter would fain have kept them, and the last words and compliments were of long duration, while Aurelia looked on in some surprise at the transformation of all Harriet’s languishing affected airs into the bustling self-importance of Mrs. Arden.  She was however much occupied with all she had heard, and was marvelling how her sister began again as soon as they were in the street again.  “You are very discreet, Aurelia, as it becomes a young married lady, but have you no notion who this innamorata of the baronet may be?”

“No, indeed, how should I?”

“I thought he might have confided in your husband, since he makes so sure of his support.”

“He has only once come to visit Mr. Belamour, and that was many months ago.”

“It is strange,” mused Harriet; “Mrs. Dove says she would have taken her Bible oath that it was you, and my Lady believed as much, or she would not have been in such haste to have you wedded.  Nay, I’ll never believe but he made his confidences to Betty when he came to the Manor House the Sunday after you were gone, though not a word could I get from her.”

“It must have been all a mistake,” said Aurelia, not without a little twinge at the thought of what might have been.  “I wish you would not talk of it.”

“Well he could have been but a fickle adorer—­’tis the way of men, my dear, for he must have found some new flame while his mother and the Colonel were both at the Bath.  They have proof positive of his riding out of town at sundown, but whither he goes is unknown, for he takes not so much as a groom with him, and he is always in time for morning parade.”

“Poor young man, it is hard to be so beset with spies and watchers,” said Aurelia.

“Most true,” said Harriet, “but I am monstrous glad you are safe married like me, child, so that no one can accuse us.  Such romantic affairs are well enough to furnish a course of letters to the Tatler, or the Gentlewomen’s Magazine, but I am thankful for a comfortable life with my good man.”

Therewith they reached their inn, where Harriet, having satisfied herself that the said good man was safe within, and profiting by the unwonted calm to write his inaugural sermon, took Aurelia to her bedroom to prepare for dinner, and to indulge in further confidences.

“So, Aurelia, I can report to my father that you are looking well, and as cheerful as can be expected.”

“Nay, I have always told you I am happy as the day is long.”

“What, when you have never so much as seen your husband?”

“Only at our wedding, and then he was forced to veil his face from the light.”

“Nor has he ever seen you?”

“Not unless he then saw me.”

“If he were not then charmed enough to repeat the view, you are the most cruelly wasted and unworthily matched—­”

“Hush, sister!” broke out Aurelia in eager indignation.