‘Last time I heard of them they were in Italy.’
‘Going on in the old way, I fear. Poor Georgina! she was sadly thrown away. But, at least, that Mark is not with them.’
‘O no,’ said Violet, sighing more deeply this time; ‘he is always about in London.’
‘Ah! you see more of him than you wish, I fear?’
‘I see very little of him. Arthur would not ask him to our house at Chichester for the Goodwood races, and it was such an escape!’
‘I am glad at least Arthur does not trouble you with him.’
Violet sat with her forehead resting on her hand, and there was a short space of thoughtful silence. It resulted in Theodora’s saying, in a sad, low, humble tone, her eyes looking straight into the red fire, ‘Do you ever hear of Mr. Fotheringham?’
‘I believe he is still at Paris,’ said Violet. ‘I only hear of him through John, who said he had been thinking of going to Italy. When he came through London, after Lady Fotheringham’s death, he left his card, but we were at Chichester. Have you seen that last article of his?’
‘What, that on modern novels? I was almost sure it was his, and yet I doubted. It was like and yet not like him.’
‘It was his,’ said Violet. ‘He always has his things sent to me. I am glad you observed the difference. I thought it so much kinder and less satirical than his writings used to be.’