e she prattled of into trifles, and
swelled them, as women of high birth in this country, out of the
clutches of the priests, do not do.

She clung to him for his promise to go.

He said: 'Well, well.'

'That means, you will,' said she.

His not denying it passed for the affirmative.

Then indeed she bloomed with love of him.

'Yet do say yes,' she begged.

'I'll go, ma'am,' shouted the earl. 'I'll go, my love,' he said softly.

CHAPTER LIII. THE APOLOGY TO DR. SHRAPNEL

'You and Nevil are so alike,' Lady Romfrey said to her lord, at some
secret resemblance she detected and dwelt on fondly, when the earl was
on the point of starting a second time for Bevisham to perform what
she had prompted him to conceive his honourable duty, without a single
intimation that he loathed the task, neither shrug nor grimace.

'Two ends of a stick are pretty much alike: they're all that length
apart,' said he, very little in the humour for compliments, however well
braced for his work.

His wife's admiring love was pleasant enough. He preferred to have it
unspoken. Few of us care to be eulogized in the act of taking a nauseous
medical mixture.

For him the thing was as good as done, on his deciding to think it both
adviseable and right: so he shouldered his load and marched off with
it. He could have postponed the right proceeding, even after the partial
recognition of his error:--one drops a word or two by hazard, one
expresses an anxiety to afford reparation, one sends a message, and so
forth, for the satisfaction of one's conventionally gentlemanly feeling:
but the adviseable proceeding under stress of peculiar circumstances,
his clearly-awakened recognition of that, impelled him unhesitatingly.
His wife had said it was the portion she brought him. Tears would not
have persuaded him so powerfully, that he might prove to her he was glad
of her whatever the portion she brought. She was a good wife, a brave
woman, likely to be an incomparable mother. At present her very virtues
excited her to fancifulness nevertheless she was in his charge, and he
was bound to break the neck of his will, to give her perfect peace of
wind. The child suffers from the mother's mental agitation. It might be
a question of a nervous or an idiot future Earl of Romfrey. Better death
to the House than such a mockery of his line! These reflections reminded
him of the heartiness of his whipping of that poor old tumbled signpost
Shrapnel, in the