e lord!"

CHAPTER XXII.

AGAIN AT TRAFFORD.

The meeting between Hampstead and his sister was affectionate and,
upon the whole, satisfactory, though it was necessary that a few
words should be spoken which could hardly be pleasant in themselves.
"I had a dinner-party here last night," he said laughing, desirous of
telling her something of George Roden,--and something also of Marion
Fay.

"Who were the guests?"

"Roden was here." Then there was silence. She was glad that her lover
had been one of the guests, but she was not as yet moved to say
anything respecting him. "And his mother."

"I am sure I shall like his mother," said Lady Frances.

"I have mentioned it," continued her brother, speaking with unusual
care, "because, in compliance with the agreement I made at Trafford,
I cannot ask him here again at present."

"I am sorry that I should be in your way, John."

"You are not in my way, as I think you know. Let us say no more than
that at present. Then I had a singular old Quaker, named Zachary Fay,
an earnest, honest, but humble man, who blew me up instantly for
talking slang."

"Where did you pick him up?"

"He comes out of the City," he said, not wishing to refer again to
Paradise Row and the neighbourhood of the Rodens,--"and he brought
his daughter."

"A young lady?"

"Certainly a young lady."

"Ah, but young,--and beautiful?"

"Young,--and beautiful."

"Now you are laughing. I suppose she is some strong-minded, rather
repulsive, middle-aged woman."

"As to the strength of her mind, I have not seen enough to constitute
myself a judge," said Hampstead, almost with a tone of offence. "Why
you should imagine her to be repulsive because she is a Quaker, or
why middle-aged, I do not understand. She is not repulsive to me."

"Oh, John, I am so sorry! Now I know that you have found some divine
beauty."

"We sometimes entertain angels unawares. I thought that I had done so
when she took her departure."

"Are you in earnest?"

"I am quite in earnest as to the angel. Now I have to consult you as
to a project." It may be remembered that Hampstead had spoken to his
father as to the expediency of giving up his horses if he found that
his means were not sufficient to keep up Hendon Hall, his yacht, and
his hunting establishment in Northamptonshire. The Marquis, without
saying a word to his son, had settled that matter, and Gorse Hall,
with its stables, was continued. The proposition now