Lord Hampstead had not as yet even seen his stepmother, but had thought it no more than decent to send her word that he would wait upon her before he left the house. All domestic troubles he knew to be bad. For his stepmother's sake, and for that of his sister and little brothers, he would avoid as far as might be possible any open rupture. He therefore went to the Marchioness before he ate his dinner. "My father is much better," he said; but his stepmother only shook her head, so that there was before him the task of recommencing the conversation. "Dr. Spicer says so."
"I am not sure that Mr. Spicer knows much about it."
"He thinks so himself."
"He never tells me what he thinks. He hardly tells me anything."
"He is not strong enough for much talking."
"He will talk to Mr. Roberts by the hour together. So I hear that I am to congratulate you." This she said in a tone which was clearly intended to signify both condemnation and ridicule.
"I am not aware of it," said Hampstead with a smile.
"I suppose it is true about the Quaker lady?"
"I can hardly tell you, not knowing what you may have heard. There can be no room for congratulation, as the lady has not accepted the offer I have made her." The Marchioness laughed incredulously,—with a little affected laugh in which the incredulity was sincere.—"I can only tell you that it is so."
"No doubt you will try again?"