cidental intimacy was
formed, to wane and die out with the circumstance that created it. Not
so did _he_ regard it. He read a prearranged plan in every step she had
taken--he saw in her game the woman's vanity to wield an influence over
one for whom so many contended--he knew, too, how in the great world an
"_eclat_" can always cover an "indiscretion"--and that, in the society
of that metropolis to which she aspired, the reputation of chaperoning
the rich Roland Cashel would be of incalculable service.

If Linton had often foiled deeper snares, here a deep personal wrong
disturbed his powers of judgment, and irritated him beyond all calm
prudential thoughts. Revenge upon her, the only one he had ever cared
for, was now his uppermost thought, and left little place for any other.

Wearied and worn out, he fell asleep at last, but only to be suddenly
awakened by the rattling of wheels and the quick tramp of horses on the
gravel beneath his window. The one absorbing idea pervading his mind,
he started up, muttering, "_She_ is here." As he opened his window
and looked down, he at once perceived his mistake--Mrs. Kennyfeck's
well-known voice was heard, giving directions about her luggage--and
Linton closed the casement, half relieved and half disappointed.

For a brief space the house seemed astir. Mrs. Kennyfeck made her way
along the corridor in a mingled commentary on the handsome decorations
of the mansion and Mr. Kennyfeck's stupidity, who had put Archbold's
"Criminal Practice" into her bag instead of Debrett's "Peerage,"
while Linton could overbear a little quizzing conversation between the
daughters, wherein the elder reproached her sister for not having
the politeness to bid them "welcome." The slight commotion gradually
subsided, all became still, but only for a brief space. Again the same
sound of crashing wheels was heard, and once more Linton flung open
his window and peered out into the darkness. It was now raining
tremendously, and the wind howling in long and dreary cadences.

"What a climate!" exclaimed a voice Linton knew to be Downie Meek's. His
plaint ran thus:--

"I often said they should pension off the Irish Secretary after three
years, as they do the Chief Justice of Gambia."

"It will make the ground very heavy for running, I fear," said the deep
full tone of a speaker who assisted a lady to alight.

"How you are always thinking of the turf, Lord Charles!" said she, as he
rather carried than aid