on't move," said Miss Thorne, almost forcing Eleanor
back into her chair. "Mr. Stanhope is not going to leave us. He will
stand behind you like a true knight as he is. And now I think of it,
Mr. Arabin, let me introduce you to Mr. Slope. Mr. Slope, Mr. Arabin."
And the two gentlemen bowed stiffly to each other across the lady
whom they both intended to marry, while the other gentleman who also
intended to marry her stood behind, watching them.

The two had never met each other before, and the present was certainly
not a good opportunity for much cordial conversation, even if cordial
conversation between them had been possible. As it was, the whole four
who formed the party seemed as though their tongues were tied. Mr.
Slope, who was wide awake to what he hoped was his coming opportunity,
was not much concerned in the interest of the moment. His wish was to
see Eleanor move, that he might pursue her. Bertie was not exactly
in the same frame of mind; the evil day was near enough; there was
no reason why he should precipitate it. He had made up his mind to
marry Eleanor Bold if he could, and was resolved to-day to take the
first preliminary step towards doing so. But there was time enough
before him. He was not going to make an offer of marriage over the
table-cloth. Having thus good-naturedly made way for Mr. Arabin, he
was willing also to let him talk to the future Mrs. Stanhope as long
as they remained in their present position.

Mr. Arabin, having bowed to Mr. Slope, began eating his food without
saying a word further. He was full of thought, and though he ate he
did so unconsciously.

But poor Eleanor was the most to be pitied. The only friend on whom
she thought she could rely was Bertie Stanhope, and he, it seemed,
was determined to desert her. Mr. Arabin did not attempt to address
her. She said a few words in reply to some remarks from Mr. Slope
and then, feeling the situation too much for her, started from her
chair in spite of Miss Thorne and hurried from the room. Mr. Slope
followed her, and young Stanhope lost the occasion.

Madeline Neroni, when she was left alone, could not help pondering
much on the singular interview she had had with this singular man.
Not a word that she had spoken to him had been intended by her to be
received as true, and yet he had answered her in the very spirit of
truth. He had done so, and she had been aware that he had so done.
She had wormed from him his secret, and he, debarre