What could it be, then? Could it be the question of Eleanor's future that brought Sir Nugent thither in such haste? From the conversation which she had had with her friend, May was certain that Eleanor was deeply impressed with Uffington, and that though perhaps her rejection of Spiridion Pratt was not entirely influenced by that feeling, it was tolerably certain that, if Uffington had been the suitor, he would have received a very different reply. The spirit and eagerness with which Eleanor had combated the idea of his being too old to marry a young girl had given May a complete insight into her friend's feelings, and if Uffington's errand were to propose for Eleanor Irvine, its success was assured. May could not, however, think that this could be the case; Sir Nugent was to have come down in a few days, and would then have taken advantage of the opportunity to propose for the girl's hand if he had any such intention. It was entirely unlike him to make a special excursion for the purpose, which would necessarily lead to comment and question; moreover, it was to herself, Lady Forestfield, that the telegram was addressed, and the request that she should remain at home was made to her. May gave it up in despair; she was totally unable to divine the cause of Uffington's coming unless it related to private affairs of his own, and she could scarcely think that concerning them it could be necessary to consult her.
May was not the only one who was brooding over what the message might portend; Eleanor Irvine, so soon as she could rid herself of the fussy companionship of Mrs. Chadwick, devoted her energies to its solution. To her the fact that the writer attached importance to an interview with Lady Forestfield seemed of alarming significance. More than once during the last few months Eleanor's heart had been wrung with the idea that an attachment had innocently, and perhaps without their knowing it, sprung up between May Forestfield and Sir Nugent Uffington. It seemed to her impossible that two such persons could be thrown together without falling in love with each other, for May, in Eleanor's eyes, was the prettiest, the sweetest, the most lovable of women; while, as for Uffington, when her own heart told her that she loved him with all the admiration and affection of which her deep strong nature was capable, she, of course, thought that every other woman must be similarly fascinated. May had never given her the smallest hint to lead her to believe in the existence of such a state of things, and, indeed, during their last conversation when the merits of Uffington and the reasons for his having hitherto remained unmarried had been fully discussed, Eleanor had taken the opportunity of narrowly watching Lady Forestfield, and was at the time convinced that no feeling stronger than grateful friendship had dictated her panegyrics. Of Uffington, however, Eleanor had never been so sure. She had fancied once or twice that he seemed attached to herself, but in such matters had had little experience, and thought she might possibly have been deceived. It seemed almost absurd to think that a man of such taste and refinement could have been thrown so much as he had recently been into the society of a woman like May without bowing to the spell which her beauty and fascination never failed to exercise. And if such were the case, if Uffington's errand were to implore May to let the decree _nisi_ be confirmed and to trust her future to him, Eleanor felt certain that May would not have the power to resist. What would then become of her?