n against
nature if I don't!' Mr. Romfrey interjected in burlesque of his
ridiculous nephew, with collapsing laughter. But he expressed an
indignant surprise at Nevil for allowing Rosamund to travel alone.

'I can take very good care of myself,' Rosamund protested.

'You can do hundreds of things you should never be obliged to do while
he's at hand, or I, ma'am,' said Mr. Romfrey. 'The fellow's insane. He
forgets a gentleman's duty. Here's his "humanity" dogging a French frock,
and pooh!--the age of the marquis! Fifty? A man's beginning his prime at
fifty, or there never was much man in him. It's the mark of a fool to
take everybody for a bigger fool than himself-or he wouldn't have written
this letter to me. He can't come home yet, not yet, and he doesn't know
when he can! Has he thrown up the service? I am to preserve the alliance
between England and France by getting this French girl for him in the
teeth of her marquis, at my peril if I refuse!'

Rosamund asked, 'Will you let me see where Nevil says that, sir?'

Mr. Romfrey tore the letter to strips. 'He's one of your fellows who cock
their eyes when they mean to be cunning. He sends you to do the
wheedling, that's plain. I don't say he has hit on a bad advocate; but
tell him I back him in no mortal marriage till he shows a pair of
epaulettes on his shoulders. Tell him lieutenants are fledglings--he's
not marriageable at present. It's a very pretty sacrifice of himself he
intends for the sake of the alliance, tell him that, but a lieutenant's
not quite big enough to establish it. You will know what to tell him,
ma'am. And say, it's the fellow's best friend that advises him to be out
of it and home quick. If he makes one of a French trio, he's dished. He's
too late for his luck in England. Have him out of that mire, we can't
hope for more now.'

Rosamund postponed her mission to plead. Her heart was with Nevil; her
understanding was easily led to side against him, and for better reasons
than Mr. Romfrey could be aware of: so she was assured by her experience
of the character of Mademoiselle de Croisnel. A certain belief in her
personal arts of persuasion had stopped her from writing on her homeward
journey to inform him that Nevil was not accompanying her, and when she
drove over Steynham Common, triumphal arches and the odour of a roasting
ox richly browning to celebrate the hero's return afflicted her mind with
all the solid arguments of a common-sense country i