But as she lay in bed, thinking of her future life, tidings were brought to her by Mrs. Green that Mounser had accepted the mission to Patagonia.  Could it be that her destiny intended her to go out to Patagonia as the wife, if not of one minister, then of another?  There would be a career,—­a way of living, if not exactly that which she would have chosen.  Of Patagonia, as a place of residence, she had already formed ideas.  In some of those moments in which she had foreseen that Lord Rufford would be lost to her, she had told herself that it would be better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.  Among Patagonian women she would probably be the first.  Among English ladies it did not seem that at present she had prospect of a high place.  It would be long before Lord Rufford would be for= gotten,—­and she had not space enough before her for forgettings which would require time for their accomplishment.  Mounser Green had declared with energy that Lord Rufford had behaved very badly.  There are men who feel it to be their mission to come in for the relief of ladies who have been badly treated.  If Mounser Green wished to be one of them on her behalf, and to take her out with him to his very far-away employment, might not this be the best possible solution of her present difficulties?

On the evening of the third day after her return she was able to come down-stairs and the line of thought which has been suggested for her induced her to undertake some trouble with the white and pink robe, or dressing-gown in which she had appeared.  “Well, my dear, you are smart,” the old lady said.

   “’Odious in woollen;—­’twould a saint provoke,
     Were the last words which poor Narcissa spoke.’”

said Arabella, who had long since provided herself with this quotation for such occasions.  “I hope I am not exactly dying, Mrs. Green; but I don’t see why I should not object to be ’frightful,’—­ as well as the young lady who was.”

“I suppose it’s all done for Mounser’s benefit?”

“Partly for you, partly for Mounser, and a good deal for myself.  What a very odd name.  Why did they call him Mounser?  I used to think it was because he was in the Foreign Office,—­a kind of chaff, as being half a Frenchman.”

“My mother’s maiden name was Mounser, and it isn’t French at all.  I don’t see why it should not be as good a Christian name as Willoughby or Howard.”

“Quite as good, and much more distinctive.  There can’t be another Mounser Green in the world.”

“And very few other young men like him.  At my time of life I find it very hard his going away.  And what will he do in such a place as that,—­all alone and without a wife?”

“Why don’t you make him take a wife?”

“There isn’t time now.  He’ll have to start in May.”

“Plenty of time.  Trousseaus are now got up by steam, and girls are kept ready to marry at the shortest notice.  If I were you I should certainly advise him to take out some healthy young woman, capable of bearing the inclemencies of the Patagonian climate.”