"She doesn't often speak to the likes of me," said Rose; "which of course is a great advantage for the likes of me. But next time I shall speak to her—which will be so good for her. My dear Hugh, don't let Meynell be too magnanimous—I can't stand it."
Flaxman laughed, but rather absently. It was evident that he was still under the strong impression of the conversation he had just passed through.
Rose stole up to him, and put her lips to his ear.
"Who—was—Hester's father?"
Flaxman looked up.
"I haven't the least idea."
"But of course we must all know some time," said Rose discontentedly.
"Catharine knows already."
* * * * *
Meynell passed that evening in his study, after some hours spent in the Christmas business of a large parish. His mind was full of agitation, and when midnight struck, ushering in Christmas Eve, he was still undecided as to his precise course.
Among the letters of the day lying scattered beside him on the floor there was yet further evidence of the power of Barron's campaign. There were warm expressions indeed of sympathy and indignation to be found among them, but on the whole Meynell realized that his own side's belief in him was showing some signs of distress, while the attack upon him was increasing in violence. His silence even to his most intimate friends, even to his Bishop; the disappearance from England of the other persons named in the scandal; the constant elaborations and embellishments of the story as it passed from mouth to mouth—these things were telling against him steadily and disastrously.