“It was not an unnatural result of their meeting again.”

“Ah! there I was to blame again; but no one can judge whether an attachment be real between such children.  I thought, too, that Frank would be gone out into the world, and I confess I did not expect to find that he had absolutely addressed her, and kept it secret.  That is what my poor father feels so much.  Eleonora is his special darling, and he says he could have overlooked anything but the concealment.”

Maternal affection assumed the defensive; and, though the idea of concealment on the part of one of her sons was a shock, Mrs. Poynsett made no betrayal of herself, merely asking, “How did it come to light?”

“I extorted the confession.  I think I was justified, standing in a mother’s position, as I do.  I knew my vigilance had been eluded, and that your son had walked home with her after the skating; and you know very well how transparent young things are.”

The skating!  The mother at once understood that Frank was only postponing the explanation till after his examination; and besides, she had never been ignorant of his attachment, and could not regard any display thereof more or less as deception towards herself.  The very fact that Lady Tyrrell was trying to prejudice her beforehand, so as to deprive him of the grace of taking the initiative towards his own mother, enlisted her feelings in his defence, so she coldly answered, “I am sorry if Sir Harry Vivian thinks himself unfairly treated; but I should have thought my son’s feelings had been as well known in the one family as in the other.”

“But, dear Mrs. Poynsett,” exclaimed Lady Tyrrell, “I am sure you never encouraged them.  I am quite enough aware—­whatever I may once have been—­of the unfortunate contrast between our respective families.”

Certainly there was no connection Mrs. Poynsett less wished to encourage; yet she could not endure to play into Camilla’ hands, and made reply, “There are many matters in which young men must judge for themselves.  I have only once see Miss Vivian, and have no means of estimating my son’s chance of happiness with her.”

Her impenetrability ruffled Lady Tyrrell; but the answer was softer than ever.  “Dear Mrs. Poynsett, what a happy mother you are, to be able so freely to allow your sons to follow their inclinations!  Well! since you do not object, my conscience is easy on that score; but it was more than I durst hope.”

To have one’s approval thus stolen was out of the question and Mrs. Poynsett said, “Regret is one thing, opposition another.  Sir Harry Vivian need not doubt that, when my son’s position is once fixed, he will speak openly and formally, and it will then be time to judge.”

“Only,” said Lady Tyrrell, rising, “let this be impressed on your son.  Eleonora cannot marry till she is of age, and my father cannot sanction any previous entanglement.  Indeed it is most unfortunate, if her affections have been tampered with, for me, who have outgrown romance, and know that, in her position, a wealthy match is a necessity.  I have spoken candidly,” she repeated; “for I like Frank too well to bear that he should be trifled with and disappointed.”