.

'Why so?'

'Because I am afraid Bertha would not look up to him if she lived with
him,' said Phoebe.

Robert smiled, having himself become conscious of that weakness in his
good brother-in-law which Phoebe felt, but did not name.

'And now, Phoebe,' said Robert, suddenly changing the subject, 'I have
something for you to do; I want you to call on Miss Sandbrook.'

On her astonished look, he explained that he had made it his business
frequently to see Owen Sandbrook's child, and of late to give it some
religious teaching. While thus engaged, he had been surprised by the
entrance of Lucilla, looking wretchedly ill and exhausted, and though she
had rallied her spirits after the first moment, talked of having come up
from Essex for a day's holiday of shopping and seeing her nephew, and had
inquired eagerly and warmly for Miss Charlecote, he had been sufficiently
uneasy about her to go afterwards to Mrs. Murrell, from whom he had
learnt that she had avowed having consulted a physician in the morning,
and had procured her address.

'And now,' said Robert, 'I want you, with whom she has never quarrelled,
to call on her as an old friend just come into her neighbourhood, and
find out what was the doctor's opinion. I am sure she is destroying
herself.'

The whole was said with perfect simplicity, without shrinking from
Phoebe's eye, as though he had absolutely forgotten what sentiments he
had once entertained; and Phoebe could, neither in kindness nor humanity,
refuse to be the means of reopening communication with the voluntary
exile. She proposed to write and offer a call, but Robert, fearing to
rouse the old perverse pride, recommended that there should be no
preparation. Indeed, the chances of an independent expedition seemed
likely to be scanty, for Lady Bannerman pounced on her sister as a truant
bond-slave, who, when captured, was to be useful all day, and go to
parties all night.

'I have told all my friends that I was going to introduce my sister, and
what expectations you have,' she said. 'See, here are two cards for
to-morrow night, Lady Jane Hewett and Mrs. Gosling, the young widow that
I want Mervyn to meet, you know. Clear 5000 pounds a year, and such a
charming house. Real first-rate suppers; not like Lady Jane's
bread-and-butter and cat-lap, as Sir Nicholas says, just handed round.
We would never go near the place, but as I said to Sir Nicholas, any
sacrifice for my sister; and she has a son, y