best."

He took up a volume of Dean Church's sermons, and began to read.
Presently, as always, his subtler self became conscious of the irony of
the situation. He was endeavoring to soothe her trouble by applying to
it some of the noblest religious thought of our day, expressed in the
noblest language. Such an attempt implied some moral correspondence
between the message and the listener. Yet all the time he was conscious
himself of cowardice and hypocrisy. What part of the Christian message
really applied to Lady Lucy this afternoon but the searching words: "He
that loveth not his brother whom he hath seen, how can he love God whom
he hath not seen?"

Yet he read on. The delicate ascetic face of his companion grew calmer;
he himself felt a certain refreshment and rest. There was no one else in
the world with whom he could sit like this, to whom he could speak or
read of the inner life. Lucy Marsham had made him what he was, a
childless bachelor, with certain memories in his past life of which he
was ashamed--representing the revenge of a strong man's temperament and
physical nature. But in the old age she had all but reached, and he was
approaching, she was still the one dear and indispensable friend. If she
must needs be harsh and tyrannical--well, he must try and mitigate the
effects, for herself and others. But his utmost effort must restrain
itself within certain limits. He was not at all sure that if offended
in some mortal point, she might not do without him. But so long as they
both lived, he could not do without her.

* * * * *

Early the following morning Alicia Drake appeared in Eaton Square, and
by two o'clock Mrs. Fotheringham was also there. She had rushed up from
Leeds by the first possible train, summoned by Alicia's letter. Lady
Lucy and her daughter held conference, and Miss Drake was admitted to
their counsels.

"Of course, mamma," said Isabel Fotheringham, "I don't at all agree with
you in the matter. Nobody is responsible for their mothers and fathers.
We make ourselves. But I shall not be sorry if the discovery frees
Oliver from a marriage which would have been a rope round his neck. She
is a foolish, arrogant, sentimental girl, brought up on the most
wrong-headed principles, and she could _never_ have made a decent wife
for him. She will, I hope, have the sense to see it--and he will be well
out of it."

"Oliver, at present, is very determined," said Lady Luc