Gertrude was yawning behind her hand before the clergyman was half through his explanation.
“I thank you, Mr Marshall,” said Temperance, who had listened attentively. “Methinks I had some apprehension of the difference in myself, but I could not have expounded it thus clearly.”
“To know it in yourself, my sister, is a far greater thing, and a better, than being able to expound it.—And how is it with you, Lady Lettice?”
“Well, Mr Marshall,” she said with her soft smile. “At times I think that a few more pins of the tabernacle are taken down, and then the passing wind causeth the curtains to shake. But at worst it shall be only the moving of the pillar of cloud—the ‘Come up higher’ into the very presence of the King.”
“And in the interim ‘the Lord sitteth between the cherubim, be the people never so unquiet.’ And how is it, dear Sister, with your two young men?”
Lady Louvaine paused to accept Gertrude’s offered hand and bid her good-night. That young woman did not enjoy Mr Marshall’s conversation, and suddenly discovered that it was time for her return home.
“Hans is all I could desire,” said the old lady, returning to the subject: “he is a dear, good, sober-minded lad as need be. But I will not disguise from you, Mr Marshall, that I am in some disease of mind touching Aubrey.”
“May I ask wherefore?”
“You may ask, indeed, yet can I scarce tell. That is no wise-sounding thing to say: yet one may have cause for fear where he hath no evidence for demonstration.”
“He may so, indeed. Then you reckon there is good cause for fear?”