you
herself; but I said that I would--that I must be brave.... I must learn
to be brave.... I can tell you no more."

He lifted her hands and stood up.

"I see that I understand nothing that you say after all," he said with a
fine fatherly dignity. "I must talk with your mother."

II

He found his wife half an hour later in the ladies' parlour, which he
entered with an air as of nothing to say. With the same air of
disengagement he made sure that Marjorie was nowhere in the room, and
presently sat down.

Mrs. Manners was well past her prime. She was over forty years old and
looked over fifty, though she retained the air of distinction which
Marjorie had derived from her; but her looks belied her, and she had not
one tithe of the subtlety and keenness of her daughter. She was, in
fact, more suited to be wife to her husband than mother to her daughter.

"You have come about the maid," she said instantly, with disconcerting
penetration and frankness. "Well, I know no more than you. She will tell
me nothing but what she has told you. She has some fiddle-faddle in her
head, as maids will, but she will have her way with us, I suppose."

She drew her needle through the piece of embroidery which she permitted
to herself for an hour on Sundays, knotted the thread and bit it off.
Then she regarded her husband.

"I.... I will have no fiddle-faddle in such a matter," he said
courageously. "Maids did not rule their parents when I was a boy; they
obeyed them or were beaten."

His wife laughed shortly; and began to thread her needle again.

He began to explain. The match was in all respects suitable. Certainly
there were difficulties, springing from the very startling events at
Matstead, and it well might be that a man who would do as Mr. Audrey had
done (or, rather, proposed to do) might show obstinacy in other
directions too. Therefore there was no hurry; the two were still very
young, and it certainly would be wiser to wait for any formal betrothal
until Robin's future disclosed itself. But no action of Mr. Audrey's
need delay the betrothal indefinitely; if need were, he, Mr. Manners,
would make proper settlements. Marjorie was an only daughter; in fact,
she was in some sort an heiress. The Manor would be sufficient for them
both. As to any other difficulties--any of the maidenly fiddle-faddle of
which his wife had spoken--this should not stand in the way for an
instant.

His wife laughed again in the same exclamato