say you are engaged to her, I presume
she has shown a preference--may be a mistake, merely a young girl's
romantic idea."

Arthur thought of his conversation of the previous day with Angela,
and could not help smiling as he answered,

"I think if you ask her that, she will tell you that is not the case."

"Heigham, I will be frank with you. I like you, and you have, I
believe, sufficient means. Of course, you know that my daughter will
have nothing--at any rate, till I am dead," he added, quickly.

"I never thought about the matter, but I shall be only too glad to
marry her with nothing but herself."

"Very good. I was going to say that, notwithstanding this, marriage is
an important matter; and I must have time to think over it before I
give you a decided answer, say a week. I shall not, however, expect
you to leave here unless you wish to do so, nor shall I seek to place
any restrictions on your intercourse with Angela, since it would
appear that the mischief is already done. I am flattered by your
proposal; but I must have time, and you must understand that in this
instance hesitation does not necessarily mean consent."

In affairs of this nature a man is satisfied with small mercies, and
willing to put up with inconveniences that appear trifling in
comparison with the disasters that might have overtaken him. Arthur
was no exception to the general rule. Indeed, he was profuse in his
thanks, and, buoyed up with all the confidence of youth, felt sure in
his heart that he would soon find a way to extinguish any objections
that might still linger in Philip's mind.

His would-be father-in-law contented himself with acknowledging his
remarks with courtesy, and the interview came to an end.

Arthur gone, however, his host lost all his calmness of demeanour,
and, rising from his untasted meal, paced up and down the room in
thought. Everything had, he reflected, fallen out as he wished. Young
Heigham wished to marry his daughter, and he could not wish for a
better husband. Save for the fatality which had sent that woman to him
on her fiend's errand, he would have given his consent at once, and
been glad to give it. Not that he meant to refuse it--he had no such
idea. And then he began to think what, supposing that Lady Bellamy's
embassy had been of a nature that he could entertain, which it was
not, it would mean to him. It would mean the realization of the work
and aspirations of twenty years; it would mean his re-e