As it was, he had only discussed
the matter informally with one or two of us." And when he was left alone,
he murmured softly, "I suppose that's how Alexander meant me to put it."
But he rather wished that Alexander had been there to put it himself.
It is perhaps needless to say that Aunt Maria, sturdily fulfilling her
destiny in life, was deeply concerned in the fortunes of the Alethea
Printing Press. But large as was her stake--and the possibilities of loss
at least were for her very large--she was not disturbed; she said that
heaven alone knew whether there was anything in the thing, but that she
knew that Sandro would make people think there was. Nor did she share in
any serious degree the fears which afflicted her nephew's wife; Sandro
always had a case, and she did not doubt that he would have a very good
one whereby to justify any proceedings he might take in regard to the
Alethea. So she lived frugally, hoped magnificently, and came often to
Grosvenor Road to pick up what crumbs of information she could. Here she
met Lady Castlefort and nodded her rusty bonnet at that great personage
with the remark that she was glad people were waking up to what there was
in Sandro; it was time, goodness knew.
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