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talking for a moment and let me read the note. Yes, it is as Gregory says. It was last night at nine o’clock. These things are always a shock when they come. I must write to Mr. Spong.”
    â€œYes, yes, you must, Harriet. That is what you must do. And you will do it well. Ah, you are the one to be set to a job of that description. It is a ticklish thing for some of us, but you will be up to it. Now, if I were to try to write that sort of letter, I should get a pen and ink, and I should sit down, and I should fidget and fume, and I should be thinking all the right things in my heart, I daresay, but as for getting them down …”
    â€œGodfrey, are you not ever going to stop?” said Harriet, smiling, but her hands to her head.
    â€œOh, yes, yes, my dear; I was only saying a word about your being so up to this sort of thing, even above other things. Yes, we must leave it to you to write. Well, shall I have a look at Spong’s letter? Yes, poor Spong! It will be a great loss to him, the greatest loss a man can suffer. When the end comes, then is the time to see that loss is not all gain.”
    â€œâ€™My dear Lady Haslam’”—Godfrey held the letter at arm’s length, and, less delayed by scruples than Agatha, read in a full, deep monotone—”’My beloved wife passed peacefully away yesterday evening at nine o’clock. I feel as I write to you, that I may depend upon the sympathy of true friends. I am a broken man. Yours most sincerely, Dominic Spong.’ Yes, yes, poor Spong! He is a broken man. Well, I am sure I should be in his place. All the little jars and differences he had with his wife will come back to him and crush him to the ground. The great loss he has sustained will sweep over him.” Godfrey’s eyes went down as if in sympathy with his metaphor. “I am glad he finds us true friends; I shouldn’t like to fail him at this moment. You will say a word from me in your letter, my dear?”
    â€œYes, I will write it from us both,” said his wife.
    Gregory followed his mother into the house.
    â€œFather is a delicate piece of work,” he said, bringing his face down to hers.
    â€œYes, dear,” said Harriet, her voice trembling with different feelings. “I can’t say I don’t know what you mean. But it is better for you and me to look at his fine qualities, as he has so many. Your father is a good man, Gregory.”
    â€œI spend my whole life in contemplation of his fine qualities. Of course he is a good man,” said Gregory.
    â€œMy dear, of course he is,” said Harriet with instant self-reproach. “He is, indeed, my dear, generous husband. Try to let him see how you feel to him.”
    â€œWell, Buttermere,” said Gregory, strolling into the dining-room, “so there you are, as always, at your duty?”
    â€œI have not had great opportunity to sit down to-day, sir.”
    â€œAnd do you like sitting down?”
    â€œI can do with a respite, sir.”
    â€œYes, I suppose we all can.”
    â€œThat is, we all could, sir.”
    â€œYou did not know that Mrs. Spong was dead?”
    â€œYes, sir.”
    â€œJermyn and Grisel!” Gregory called, as his brother and sister passed through the hall. “You did not know that Mrs. Spong died last night?”
    â€œNo,” said the two together, while a nervous tendency to smile appeared on Griselda’s face.
    â€œButtermere knew,” said Gregory. “He takes great interest in his fellow creatures, don’t you, Buttermere?”
    â€œWell, not to say that, sir. Mrs. Spong was a Miss Dufferin, as I understood.”
    â€œYou don’t take any interest in Smithson, your lieutenant?” said Jermyn.
    â€œI have seen no reason to remark any cause of interest in him, sir.”
    â€œNo? Well, I believe neither have I,” said Jermyn.
    â€œDoes it command your sympathy, that two of us have visited