"And would not you answer any one who attacked Sir George?"
"No, not my own mother. I would let her say what she pleased, and leave Sir George to fight his own battles."
"Ah, but it is different with you. You are her daughter, and Sir Georgeshe would not dare to speak in that way as to Sir George's doings."
"Indeed she would, if it pleased her. I am sorry I let you go up to her."
"It is as well that it should be over, Justinia. As those are her thoughts about Mr. Roberts, it is quite as well that we should know them. Even for all that I owe to her, and all the love I bear to you, I will not come to this house if I am to hear my husband abused;—not into any house."
"My dearest Fanny, we all know what happens when two angry people get together."
"I was not angry when I went up to her; not in the least."
"It is no good looking back. What are we to do now, Fanny?"
"I suppose I had better go home," said Mrs. Robarts. "I will go and put my things up, and then I will send James for them."
"Wait till after lunch, and then you will be able to kiss my mother before you leave us."
"No, Justinia; I cannot wait. I must answer Mr. Robarts by this post, and I must think what I have to say to him. I could not write that letter here, and the post goes at four." And Mrs. Robarts got up from her chair, preparatory to her final departure.
"I shall come to you before dinner," said Lady Meredith; "and if I can bring you good tidings, I shall expect you to come back here with me. It is out of the question that I should go away from Framley leaving you and my mother at enmity with each other."
To this Mrs. Robarts made no answer; and in a very few minutes afterwards she was in her own nursery, kissing her children, and teaching the elder one to say something about papa. But, even as she taught him, the tears stood in her eyes, and the little fellow knew that everything was not right.
And there she sat till about two, doing little odds and ends of things for the children, and allowing that occupation to stand as an excuse to her for not commencing her letter. But then there remained only two hours to her, and it might be that the letter would be difficult in the writing—would require thought and changes, and must needs be copied, perhaps more than once. As to the money, that she had in the house—as much, at least, as Mark now wanted, though the sending of it would leave her nearly penniless. She could, however, in case of personal need, resort to Davis as desired by him.
So she got out her desk in the drawing-room and sat down and wrote her letter. It was difficult, though she found that it hardly took so long as she expected. It was difficult, for she felt bound to tell him the truth;
