‘Then ask Albinia what Mrs. Kendal ought to do.’

Gilbert came in soon after their departure, with an odd, dishevelled, abstracted look, and muttering something inaudible about not knowing the time.  His depression absolutely courted notice, but as a slight cough would at any time reduce him to despair, he obtained no particular observation, except from Sophy, who made much of him, flushed at Genevieve’s name, and looked reproachful, that it was evident that she was his confidante.  Several times did Albinia try to lead her to enter on the subject, but she set up her screen of silence.  It was disappointing, for Albinia had believed better things of her sense, and hardly made allowance for the different aspect of the love-sorrows of seventeen, viewed from fifteen or twenty-six—­vexatious, too, to be treated with dry reserve, and probably viewed as a rock in the course of true love; and provoking to see perpetual tete-a-tetes that could hardly fail to fill Sophy’s romantic head with folly.

At the end of another week, Albinia received the following note:—­

’Dear and most kind Madame,

’I would not trouble you again, but this is the third within four days.  I returned the two former ones to himself, but he continues to write.  May I ask your permission to speak to my relatives, for I feel that I ought to hide this no longer from them, and that we must take some measures for ending it.  He does me the honour to wait near the house, and I never dare go out, since—­for I will confess all to you, madame—­he met me by the river on Monday.  I am beginning to fear that his assiduities have been observed, and I should be much obliged if you would tell me how to act.  Your kind perseverance in your goodness towards me is my greatest comfort, and I hope that you will still continue it, for indeed it is most unwillingly that I am a cause of perplexity and vexation to you.  Entreating your pardon,

                        ’Your most faithful and obliged servant,
                                             Genevieve Celeste Durant.’

What was to be done?  That broken pledge overpowered Albinia with a personal sense of shame, and though it set her free to tell all to her husband, she shrank from provoking his stern displeasure towards his son, and feared he might involve Genevieve in his anger.  She dashed off a note to her poor little friend, telling her to do as she thought fit by her aunt and grandmother, and then sought another interview with the reluctant Gilbert, to whom she returned the letter, saying, ’Oh, Gilbert, at least I thought you would keep your word.’

‘I think,’ he said, angrily, trying for dignity, though bewrayed by his restless eyes and hands—­’I think it is too much to accuse me of—­of—­when I never said—­What word did I ever give?’

‘You promised never to persecute her again.’

‘There may be two opinions as to what persecution means,’ said Gilbert.