e seen enough of
that. Poor John there--'

'How?--what?' said Violet, with alarmed curiosity.

'She died,' said Arthur.

'How long ago? What was her name?'

'Helen Fotheringham. She was our old parson's daughter. They waited
eight years, and she died last summer. I see he wears his mourning
still.'

Violet looked aghast, and spoke low. 'How very sad! Helen! That was
the reason he looked up when he heard it was my name. Poor Mr. John
Martindale! I saw the crape on his hat. Was that what made him so ill?'

'It nearly killed him last year, but he never had lungs good for
anything. First, my aunt set my father against it, and when he gave in,
she had a crabbed decrepit old grandfather, and between them they were
the death of her, and almost of him. I never thought he would rally
again.'

'Only last year?' exclaimed Violet. 'O dear! and there have I been
telling him all about--about this spring. I would not have done it, if
I had known. I thought he looked melancholy sometimes. Oh! I wish I had
not.'

'You did, did you?' said Arthur, much amused. 'You chatterbox.'

'Oh! I am so sorry. I wish--'

'No, no, he only liked you the better for it. I assure you, Violet,
he almost said so. Then that was what made him lay such stress on your
being an innocent little victim.'

'Would you be so kind as to explain it to me?' said Violet, in such
serious distress that he answered with less trifling than usual, 'There
is nothing to tell. I knew how it would be if I asked leave, so I took
it. That's all.'

'And--and surely they didn't know this at home?'

'The less said about that the better, Violet,' said Arthur. 'You are all
right, you know, and in great favour with John. He can do anything with
my father, and I have written. We shall be at home before the end
of another month, and set going with a decent income in London. A
house--where shall it be? Let me see, he can't give me less than L1000 a
year, perhaps L1600. I vow I don't see why it should not be L2000. John
wants no more than he has got, and will never marry now, and there is
only Theodora. I was always my aunt's favourite, and if you mind what
you are about we shall have our share of the old sugar-planter's hoards,
better than the Barbuda property--all niggers and losses. I wash my
hands of it, though by rights it should come to the second son.'

Neither understanding nor heeding all this, Violet interrupted by
gasping out, 'Oh! I am so grieved.'

'Grieved!