cerned
with her sister's health. He had made up his mind to declare nothing
till the irretrievable step was taken, when reproaches only could
befall him; to Alice as little as to any one else had he breathed of his
purposes. And he could no longer even take into account the uncertainty
of his success; to doubt of that would have been insufferable at the
point which he had reached in self-abandonment. Yet day after day saw
the postponement of the question which would decide his fate. Between
him and Mrs. Waltham the language of allusion was at length put aside;
he spoke plainly of his wishes, and sought her encouragement. This was
not wanting, but the mother begged for time. Let the day of the ceremony
come and go.

Richard passed through it in a state of exaltation and anxiety which
bordered on fever. Mr. Westlake and his wife came down from London by an
early train, and he went over New Wanley with them before luncheon. The
luncheon itself did not lack festive vivacity; Richard, in surveying his
guests from the head of the board, had feelings not unlike those wherein
King Polycrates lulled himself of old; there wanted, in truth, one thing
to complete his self-complacence, but an extra glass or two of wine
enrubied his imagination, and he already saw Adela's face smiling to him
from the table's unoccupied end. What was such conquest in comparison
with that which fate had accorded him?

There was a satisfactory gathering to hear Mr. Westlake's address;
Richard did not fail to note the presence of a few reporters, only it
seemed to him that their pencils might have been more active. Here,
too, was Adela at length; every time his name was uttered, perforce she
heard; every encomium bestowed upon him by the various speakers was to
him like a new bud on the tree of hope. After all, why should he feel
this humility towards her? What man of prominence, of merit, at all
like his own would ever seek her hand? The semblance of chivalry which
occasionally stirred within him was, in fact, quite inconsistent with
his reasoned view of things; the English working class has, on the
whole, as little of that quality as any other people in an elementary
stage of civilisation. He was a man, she a woman. A lady, to be sure,
but then--

After Mutimer, Alfred Waltham had probably more genuine satisfaction in
the ceremony than any one else present. Mr. Westlake he was not quite
satisfied with; there was a mildness and restraint about the st