tell. Something had been knocked out of him! He was sensible of his
father's sweetness of manner, and he was grieved that he could not reply
to it, for every sense of shame and reproach had strangely gone. He felt
very useless. In place of the fiery love for one, he now bore about a
cold charity to all.

Thus in the heart of the young man died the Spring Primrose, and while
it died another heart was pushing forth the Primrose of Autumn.

The wonderful change in Richard, and the wisdom of her admirer, now
positively proved, were exciting matters to Lady Blandish. She was
rebuked for certain little rebellious fancies concerning him that had
come across her enslaved mind from time to time. For was he not almost
a prophet? It distressed the sentimental lady that a love like Richard's
could pass off in mere smoke, and words such as she had heard him speak
in Abbey-wood resolve to emptiness. Nay, it humiliated her personally,
and the baronet's shrewd prognostication humiliated her. For how should
he know, and dare to say, that love was a thing of the dust that could
be trodden out under the heel of science? But he had said so; and he had
proved himself right. She heard with wonderment that Richard of his own
accord had spoken to his father of the folly he had been guilty of, and
had begged his pardon. The baronet told her this, adding that the
youth had done it in a cold unwavering way, without a movement of his
features: had evidently done it to throw off the burden of the duty, he
had conceived. He had thought himself bound to acknowledge that he had
been the Foolish Young Fellow, wishing, possibly, to abjure the fact
by an set of penance. He had also given satisfaction to Benson, and was
become a renovated peaceful spirit, whose main object appeared to be to
get up his physical strength by exercise and no expenditure of speech.

In her company he was composed and courteous; even when they were alone
together, he did not exhibit a trace of melancholy. Sober he seemed, as
one who has recovered from a drunkenness and has determined to drink
no more. The idea struck her that he might be playing a part, but Tom
Bakewell, in a private conversation they had, informed her that he had
received an order from his young master, one day while boxing with him,
not to mention the young lady's name to him as long as he lived; and Tom
could only suppose that she had offended him. Theoretically wise Lady
Blandish had always thought the bar