"Very likely not. But I wasn't going to take her to task for it. She began. Talked of it as if it had been a public meeting! Had heard there was quite a large gathering at Blind Jim's funeral. 'You were not there,' said I, simply as a matter of fact. But I suppose she felt there was a cap that fitted, for she said: 'I thought you would think the family quite sufficiently represented by my father and mother.' I answered—and I dare say my manner was rather irritable—'I wasn't counting heads, Judith.' She said, with a disagreeable shrewdness: 'But you noticed my absence?' 'If you ask me,' said I, 'I did notice it; and of all your family, I think, under the circumstances, your presence was the one most called for.' She replied, with that exasperating placidity she is such a mistress of: 'Possibly some persons acquainted with the whole story might have thought a parade of emotion uncalled for on my part.' I said, rather angrily: 'No one expects a parade of emotion from you, but only the common debt all are ready to pay to the memory of a fellow-creature tragically killed—especially those who have had any share, however indirect, in his death! She replied: 'I don't think we need make any pretences. You know as well as I do what share this man had in frustrating an object I had at heart; and at least you cannot expect me to be grateful to him?'"
"You were alone, then?"
"Yes—her mother had gone on in front. My answer to her was substantially that, if she knew what I knew, she would think poor Jim a benefactor, instead of bearing a grudge against him. 'What do you mean?' said she. 'Please don't be enigmatical.' I then told her bluntly what her position would have been had her proposed marriage with Challis been put into practice—been acted on. I told her of the legalism under which the validity of Challis's marriage with Marianne would stand or fall, according as his previous marriage was void or otherwise; and that it was void, as his first wife's husband was living when he married her. I must say I admired her self-possession when she heard what a precipice she had been on the edge of...."
"What did she say?"
"She paused in her walk with a sort of 'what-next-I-wonder?' look on her face, and a slight 'oh—really!' movement of the head. Then she walked on again, as before; merely saying, as coolly as if she were talking of a new dress—more coolly—'The marriage laws are too funny for words.'"
"What did you say?"
"I said they were; feeling free to do so with dear Gus at Tunis. But I saw that she was perfectly well aware what a narrow escape she had had. However, she'll forget all about it when she's a Duchess. It's a pity he's so much younger than she is."
"Will the Challises ever know Marianne was his wife all along?"
"I hope not. It would break Marianne's heart. Her belief in her sister would be shaken. Now they're so happy together again it would be a grievous pity she should know anything about it. She's quite content with the retrospective working of the new Statute. Enough is as good as a feast...."