d was trying to gain time by
a torrent of talk. Feeling very diplomatic, she lamented the fate of
Speyer, and declared that never, never should she be so misguided as to
visit it, and added of her own accord that the principles of restoration
were ill understood in Germany. "The Germans," she said, "are too
thorough, and this is all very well sometimes, but at other times it
does not do."

"Exactly," said Margaret; "Germans are too thorough." And her eyes began
to shine.

"Of course I regard you Schlegels as English," said Mrs. Munt
hastily--"English to the backbone."

Margaret leaned forward and stroked her hand.

"And that reminds me--Helen's letter."

"Oh yes, Aunt Juley, I am thinking all right about Helen's letter. I
know--I must go down and see her. I am thinking about her all right. I
am meaning to go down."

"But go with some plan," said Mrs. Munt, admitting into her kindly voice
a note of exasperation. "Margaret, if I may interfere, don't be taken by
surprise. What do you think of the Wilcoxes? Are they our sort? Are they
likely people? Could they appreciate Helen, who is to my mind a very
special sort of person? Do they care about Literature and Art? That is
most important when you come to think of it. Literature and Art. Most
important. How old would the son be? She says 'younger son.' Would he
be in a position to marry? Is he likely to make Helen happy? Did you
gather--"

"I gathered nothing."

They began to talk at once.

"Then in that case--"

"In that case I can make no plans, don't you see."

"On the contrary--"

"I hate plans. I hate lines of action. Helen isn't a baby."

"Then in that case, my dear, why go down?"

Margaret was silent. If her aunt could not see why she must go down,
she was not going to tell her. She was not going to say, "I love my dear
sister; I must be near her at this crisis of her life." The affections
are more reticent than the passions, and their expression more subtle.
If she herself should ever fall in love with a man, she, like Helen,
would proclaim it from the housetops, but as she loved only a sister she
used the voiceless language of sympathy.

"I consider you odd girls," continued Mrs. Munt, "and very wonderful
girls, and in many ways far older than your years. But--you won't be
offended? frankly, I feel you are not up to this business. It requires
an older person. Dear, I have nothing to call me back to Swanage." She
spread out her plump arms. "I am a