‘Only Mr. Pringle’s nephew?’ she said, disdainfully.  ’What was the use of making a fuss?  I thought it was some one interesting!’

Sophy was able to walk to church in the evening, but was made to go in to rest at the vicarage before returning home.  While this was being discussed before the porch, Albinia felt a pressure on her arm, and looking round, saw Maria Meadows.

‘Can you spare me a few moments?’ she said; and Albinia turned aside with her to the flagged terrace path between the churchyard and vicarage garden, in the light of a half-moon.

‘You were so kind this morning,’ began Maria, ’that I thought—­you see it is very awkward—­not that I have any idea—­but if you would speak to Edmund—­I know he is not in the habit—­morning visits and—­’

‘Do you wish him to call?  He had been thinking of it.’

Maria would have been unbounded in her gratitude, but catching herself up, she disclaimed all personal interest—­only she said Edmund knew nothing of anything that had passed—­if he did, he would see they would feel—­

‘I think,’ said Albinia, kindly, ’that we do know that you had some troubles on that score.  Old nurse said something to Sophy, but no other creature knows it.’

‘Ah!’ exclaimed Maria, ’that is what comes of trusting any one.  I was so ill when I found out how it had been, that I could not keep it from nurse, but from mamma I did—­my poor father being just gone and all—­I could not have had her know how much I felt it—­the discovery I mean—­and it is what I wish her never to do.  But oh!  Mrs. Kendal, think what it was to find out that when I had been thinking he had been only trifling with me all those years, to find that he had been so unkindly treated.  There was his own dear letter to me never unsealed; and there was another to my father saying in a proud-spirited way that he did not know what he had done to be so served, and he wished I might find happiness, for I would never find one that loved me as well.  I who had turned against him in my heart!’

‘It was cruel indeed!  And you kept it from your mother!’ said Albinia, beginning to honour her.

’My poor father was just gone, you know, and I could not be grieving her with what was passed and over, and letting her know that my father had broken my heart, as indeed I think he did, though he meant it all for the best.  But oh!  I thought it hard when Lucy had married the handsomest man in the country, and gone out to India, without a word against it, that I might not please myself, because I was papa’s favourite.’

‘It was very hard not to be made aware of his intentions.’

‘Yea,’ said Maria; ’for it gave me such a bitter, restless feeling against him—­though I ought to have known him better than to think he would give one minute’s pain he could help; and then when I knew the truth, the bitterness all went to poor papa’s memory, and yet perhaps he never meant to be unkind either.’