d, and
sympathise, and console.

But--there was Lady Anne! Lady Anne was the unmarried daughter of his
most influential political patron, and of late it had been impossible
for Malham to disguise from himself the fact that Lady Anne had fallen a
victim to his powerful personality and clever, versatile tongue. She
was a pitiful creature, this scion of a noble house, a thin, wizened
woman of thirty-seven, plain with a dull, sexless plainness which had in
it no redeeming point, so diffident as to be almost uncouth in manner,
overwhelmed with the consciousness of her own social failure. Wealthy
and influential as was her family, no one had ever wished to marry "poor
Anne," yet hidden within the unattractive exterior lived a loving,
sensitive heart, which had gone hungry from the hour of her birth.

Now as it happened Lady Anne's brother was nursing a certain
constituency in the neighbourhood of his father's place, and being
neither clever nor fluent he was thankful to avail himself of the
services of an eloquent young barrister, who was ever ready to run down
from town for a few days' visit, and deliver a rousing address in
furtherance of his cause. So it came about that during the summer and
autumn John Malham was a frequent visitor at Home Castle, and at each
visit the secret of Lady Anne became more and more apparent to the eyes
of onlookers.

Lady Anne wished to marry Malham. Her father recognised as much, and
decided resignedly that for "poor Anne" no better match could be
expected. Malham was a gentleman, came of a good stock, and--given a
start--was the type of man who was bound to come to the front. "We
could find him a seat," the Earl said to his son, "and Anne's jointure
would keep them going till he found his feet. If he proposes for her,
there'll be no trouble from me. At this time of day we must be thankful
for what we can get."

Cautiously, guardedly, in after-dinner confidences the young man was
allowed to infer that the coast was clear. At first he had thrust aside
the suggestion with a laugh, as something preposterous and impossible,
but the poison worked. He began to dally with the thought, to project
himself into an imaginary future when the circumstances of life should
make in his favour, instead of acting as a handicap. Slowly and surely
the poison worked.

One evening he took his way to Grosvenor Square in a frame of mind
bordering on desperation. For months past he had been building