s was meant for us:--just as, when you sit down to your dinner,
you must do it cheerfully, and you make good blood: otherwise all's
wrong. There's the right answer to Colney! But when a woman like
that .... and marries a boy: well, twenty-one--not quite that: and an
innocent, a positive innocent--it may seem incredible, after a term of
school-life: it was a fact: I can hardly understand it myself when I
look back. Marries him! And then sets to work to persecute him, because
he has blood in his veins, because he worships beauty; because he seeks
a real marriage, a real mate. And, I say it! let the world take its own
view, the world is wrong! because he preferred a virtuous life to the
kind of life she would, she must--why, necessarily!--have driven him to,
with a mummy's grain of nature in his body. And I am made of flesh, I
admit it.'

'Victor, dearest, her threat concerns only your living at Lakelands.'

'Pray, don't speak excitedly, my love,' he replied to the woman whose
tones had been subdued to scarce more than waver. 'You see how I meet
it: water off a duck's back, or Indian solar beams on the skin of a
Hindoo! I despise it hardly worth contempt;--But, come: our day was
a good one. Fenellan worked well. Old Colney was Colney Durance, of
course. He did no real mischief.'

'And you will not determine to enter Lakelands--not yet, dear?' said
Nataly.

'My own girl, leave it all to me.'

'But, Victor, I must, must know.'

'See the case. You have lots of courage. We can't withdraw. Her
intention is mischief. I believe the woman keeps herself alive for it:
we've given her another lease!--though it can only be for a very short
time; Themison is precise; Carling too. If we hold back--I have great
faith in Themison--the woman's breath on us is confirmed. We go down,
then; complete the furnishing, quite leisurely; accept--listen--accept
one or two invitations: impossible to refuse!--but they are
accepted!--and we defy her: a crazy old creature: imagines herself the
wife of the ex-Premier, widow of Prince Le Boo, engaged to the Chinese
Ambassador, et caetera. Leave the tussle with that woman to me. No, we
don't repeat the error of Crayc Farm and Creckholt. And here we
have stout friends. Not to speak of Beaver Urmsing: a picture of Old
Christmas England! You took to him?--must have taken to Beaver Urmsing!
The Marigolds! And Sir Rodwell and Lady Blachington are altogether
above the mark of Sir Humphrey and Lady Pottil,