“Don’t laugh, dear. I assure you I am quite serious, and very, very much interested. Their name is Arthur, and one of them is married; at least it is Mrs. Arthur that has taken the cottage. Of course, if the other is her sister, she can scarcely be Arthur too.”
“Mrs. Arthur!” said Lucy, startled.
“Do you know the name, Lucy? Do you know anyone of the name? I should like, I must say, to find out some clue.”
Lucy shook her head. She did not know anyone of the name, which is, of course, a respectable surname borne by many people. It could have nothing to do with anyone she knew.
“I know it only as a Christian name,” said Lucy.
“Ah, as a Christian name—everybody knows it as that,” said Mrs. Rolt. “Poor dear Arthur, I think of him every day, poor fellow.”
“He seems to be happy enough, Cousin Julia; we need not call him poor fellow now.”
“No; but then it is uncomfortable, you know, to be like that, separated from his wife. To be sure, if they did not get on it was better, perhaps; but what a pity, Lucy, they did not get on! There must be great faults, I always say, on the woman’s side.”
“On both sides, I should think,” said Lucy with a sigh.
“On the woman’s side chiefly, my dear; for we know we ought to give in. We may always be quite sure we ought to give in, whatever our husbands may do; and in that case things generally come right; for you know one person cannot quarrel by himself, can he? there must always be two. But that has nothing to do with the poor lady opposite.”