'Besides, Mervyn was right. I have had my share, and have not
even the dignity of being injured.'

The need of cooling his partisan was the most effective means of blunting
the sharp edge of his own vexation. Hearing Mervyn cross the hall, he
called to offer to take his share in some business which they had to
transact together. 'Wait a moment,' was the answer; and as Sir Bevil
muttered a vituperation of Mervyn's assurance, he said, decidedly, 'Now,
once for all, I desire that this matter be never again named between any
of us. Let no one know what has taken place, and let us forget all but
that my father was in charity with me.'

It was more than Sir Bevil was with almost any one, and he continued to
pace the gallery with Phoebe, devising impossible schemes of compensation
until the moment of his departure for London.

Robert had not relied too much on his own forbearance. Phoebe met her
two brothers at dinner--one gloomy, the other melancholy; but neither
altering his usual tone towards the other. Unaware that Robert knew of
his father's designs, nor of their prevention, Mervyn was totally exempt
from compunction, thinking, indeed, that he had saved his father from
committing an injustice on the rest of the family, for the sake of a
fanatical tormentor, who had already had and thrown away more than his
share. Subdued and saddened for the time, Mervyn was kind to Phoebe and
fairly civil to Robert, so that there were no disturbances to interfere
with the tranquil intercourse of the brother and sister in their walks in
the woods, their pacings of the gallery, or low-voiced conferences while
their mother dozed.

True to his resolve, Robert permitted no reference to his late hopes, but
recurred the more vigorously to his parish interests, as though he had
never thought of any wife save St. Matthew's Church.

Home affairs, too, were matters of anxious concern. Without much sign of
sorrow, or even of comprehension of her loss, it had suddenly rendered
the widow an aged invalid. The stimulus to exertion removed, there was
nothing to rouse her from the languid torpor of her nature, mental and
physical. Invalid habits gave her sufficient occupation, and she showed
no preference for the company of any one except Phoebe or her maid, to
whose control her passive nature succumbed. At Boodle's bidding, she
rose, dressed, ate, drank, and went to bed; at Phoebe's she saw her other
children, heard Robert read, or signe