Clare rode down the avenue about ten minutes later, the groom behind her leading Edgar’s horse, and her own thoughts very heavy with a hundred important affairs.

The immediate subject in her mind, however, was one which was very clearly suggested by the visit which she was about to make; and when her brother joined her at the Rectory Gate, she led him up to it artfully with many seeming innocent remarks, though it was with a little timidity and nervousness that she actually introduced at last the real matter which occupied her thoughts.

“You will laugh, I know,” she said, “but I don’t think it at all a laughing matter, Edgar. Please tell me, without any nonsense, do you ever think that you must marry—some time or other? I knew you would laugh; but it is not any nonsense that is in my mind.”

“Shouldn’t I return the question, and ask you, ‘Do you ever think that you must marry, Clare?’” said Edgar, when his laugh was over. Clare drew up her stately head with all the dignified disapproval which so much levity naturally called forth.

“That is quite a different matter,” she said, impatiently. “I may or may not; it is my own affair; but you must.”

“Why must I? I do not see the necessity,” said Edgar, still with a smile.

“You must, however. You are the last of our family. Why, because it is your duty! Arden has not gone out of the direct line for two hundred and fifty years. You must not only marry, but you must marry very soon.”

“There remains only to indicate the lady,” said Edgar. “Tell me that too, and then I shall be easy in my mind.”

“Edgar, I wish you would not be so teasing. Of course, I don’t want to indicate the lady; but I will tell you, if you like, the kind of person she ought to be. She must be well born; that is quite indispensable; any other deficiency may be taken into consideration, but birth we cannot do without. And she must be young, and handsome, and good—but not too good. And if she had some money—just enough to make her feel comfortable——”

“This is a paragon of all virtues and qualities,” said Edgar; “but where to be found? and when we find her, why should she condescend to me?”

“Condescend! Nonsense!” cried Clare. “You are just as good as she is;—so long as you are not carried away by a pretty face. It is so humbling to see you men. A pretty face carries the day with you over everything. Can you fancy anything more humiliating to a girl? She may be good, and wise, and clever, and yet people only want to marry her because her cheek has a pretty colour or her eyes are bright. I think it is almost as bad as if it were for money. To be married for your beauty! Every bit as bad—or even worse; for the money will last at least, and the beauty can’t.”

“But, my dear Clare, I don’t want to marry—either for beauty or anything else,” said Edgar.

“But you must marry,” repeated his sister, peremptorily. “If you had set your heart upon it, Edgar, I would not mind Gussy Thornleigh. I should like Ada a great deal better; but of course they have the same belongings. I think she is rather frivolous, and a great chatterbox; but still if you like her best——”

“I don’t like her best,” said Edgar. “I don’t like anybody best, except you. When you marry, then perhaps it will be time to think of it; but in the meantime I am very happy. I think, Clare, you should let well alone.”

“But it is not well,” said Clare, with her usual energy. And then she added, under her breath, “Arthur Arden is your heir-presumptive. He will be the one who will be looked up to; and if you don’t marry soon, people will think—Edgar, you had much better make up your mind.”

This was said very rapidly, and with great earnestness. Was it a last attempt to stand by her brother, and resist the influence of the other, who, whether visibly or not, was her brother’s antagonist? Edgar turned round upon her with tranquil wonder, entirely unmoved. She was excited, but he was calm. Arthur’s pretensions, it was evident, were nothing to him.

“Well?” he said. “Of course Arthur Arden is my heir; and probably he would make a much better Squire than I. The only thing for which I have a grudge at him is that he is like you. I confess I detest him for that. He may have my land when his time comes and I am out of the way; but I don’t like him to be nearer than I am to my sister. He is an Arden, like you.”

“He is like the old Ardens,” said Clare, with a faint smile; and then the conversation dropped. She did not care to prolong it. They went across the cheerful country, still in the glory of the fresh foliage. The blossoms were beginning to fall, the first flush of spring verdure was past, but still the road was pleasant and the morning fine. Whether it was that Clare found enough to occupy her thoughts, or that she did not wish to disclose the confused state of feeling in which she was, it would be difficult to say; but, at all events, she gave up the talk, which it was her wont to lead and direct. And Edgar, left to himself, ran over his recent experiences, and, for almost the first time since he had seen her, thought of Gussy Thornleigh. She was very “nice;” she was a very different person to have at your elbow from that pretty Alice Pimpernell, whom Clare held in such needless terror. If a man could secure such a companion—so amusing, so pretty, so full of brightness, would not he be a lucky man? Edgar let this question skim through his mind, with that sense of pleasant exhilaration which moves a young man who is sensible of the possibility of power in himself, the privilege of making choice, before any real love has come in to change the balance of feeling. He had not been made subject by Gussy, had not set his heart on her, nor transferred to her the potential voice; and it half amused, half disturbed him to think that he probably might, if he chose, have for the asking that prettiest, liveliest, charming little creature. He did not enter so deeply into the question as to realize that it was his position, his wealth, his name, and not himself which she would be sure to marry. He only felt that it was a curious, amusing, exciting thought. He was not used to such reflections; and, indeed, had he gone into it with any seriousness, Edgar, who had a natural and instinctive reverence for women, would have been the first to blush at his own superficial mixture of pleased vanity and amusement. But, being fancy free, and feeling the surface of his mind thus lightly rippled by imagination, he could not think of the young women with whom he had been brought into accidental contact since he came home without a certain pleasant emotion. They moved him to a sort of affectionate sentiment which was not in the least love, though, at the same time, it was not the kind of sentiment with which their brothers would have inspired him. Probably he would have been utterly indifferent about their brothers. With a sensation of pleasure and amusement he suffered his thoughts to stray about the subject: but he had not fallen in love. He was as far from that malady as if he had never seen a woman in his life; and, with a smile on his lip, he asked himself how it was that they did not move him simply as men did—or rather, how it was that they affected him so differently? not with passionate or irreverent, far less evil thoughts, but with a soft sense of affectionateness and indulgent friendship, a mingling of personal gratification and liking which was quite distinct from love on the one hand, and, on the other, from any sentiment ever called forth by man.

Lady Augusta was at home, with all her girls, but on the eve of starting. They were going to town for the short season, which was all Mr. Thornleigh meant to give them that year. “Don’t you think it is hard,” Gussy said, confidentially, to Edgar, “that because Harry has got into debt we should all be stinted? If any of us girls were to get into debt, I wonder what papa would say. This is the last day of May, and we must be back in July—six weeks; fancy only six weeks in town, or perhaps not quite so much as that.”

“But Clare does not go at all,” said Edgar, “and I don’t think she suffers much.”

“Oh, Clare! Clare is a great lady, and not dependent upon anybody’s pleasure. When one is mistress of Arden, and has everything one’s own way——” Here, apparently, it occurred to Gussy that she was expressing herself too frankly, for she stopped short, and laughed and blushed. “I mean, when one is one’s own mistress,” she said, “and not one of many, like us girls—it is quite different. If Clare chose to go to Siberia, instead of going to town, I think she would have her way. I am sure you would not oppose.”

“I never oppose anybody,” said Edgar; and it was curious how strongly inclined he felt to laugh and blush just as Gussy had done, and to ask her whether she would like to be mistress of Arden? “Why shouldn’t she, if she would like it?” he felt himself asking. It seemed absurd not to give her such a trifle if it really would make her so much more comfortable. Edgar, however, felt a little disposed to reason with her, to demonstrate that the position was not so very desirable after all. “But it is not so easy as you think,” he said, “for Clare finds it very difficult to manage me. I don’t think she ever had so hard a task. She has no time to think of town or the season for taking care of me.”

Gussy’s eyes lighted up with fun and mischief. “I wonder if I could manage you—were I Clare,” she said, laughing, and not without a little faint blush of consciousness. Perhaps Lady Augusta heard some echo of these last words, for she came and sat down by Edgar, entirely breaking up their tÊte-Á-tÊte. Lady Augusta was very kind, and motherly, and pleasant. She inquired into Edgar’s plans with genuine interest, and gave him a great deal of good advice.

“If I were you, I should take Clare to town,” she said. “I think it would do her good. To be sure, she is still in mourning, but she ought to be beginning to think of putting her mourning off. What is the use of it? It cannot do any good to those who are gone, and it is very gloomy for the living. To be sure, it suits Clare; but I think, Mr. Arden, you should take her to town. Besides, you ought not to shut yourself up at your age in the country all the year through; it is out of the question. My girls are grumbling at the short season we shall have. I daresay Gussy has told you. You must not mind her nonsense. She is one of those who say not only all, but more than they really mean to say.”

“Then I wish there were more of such people in the world, for they are very charming,” said Edgar heartily; and he thought so, and was quite sincere in this little speech. Lady Augusta was very friendly indeed as she shook hands with him. “Don’t forget that we expect to see you in town,” she said, as he went away. “He will be with us before ten days are over,” she said to Mr. Thornleigh, in confidence, with a nod of satisfaction: but her conclusion was made, unfortunately, on insufficient grounds.