."

"He will not believe you."

Then Lord Hampstead shrugged his shoulders, and thus the conversation
was finished.

It was now about the end of June, and the Marquis felt it to be a
grievance that he should be carried away from the charm of political
life in London. In the horror of the first revelation he had
yielded, but had since begun to feel that too much was being done in
withdrawing him from Parliament. The Conservatives were now in; but
during the last Liberal Government he had consented so far to trammel
himself with the bonds of office as to become Privy Seal for the
concluding six months of its existence, and therefore felt his own
importance in a party point of view. But having acceded to his wife
he could not now go back, and was sulky. On the evening before their
departure he was going to dine out with some of the party. His wife's
heart was too deep in the great family question for any gaiety,
and she intended to remain at home,--and to look after the final
packings-up for the little lords.

"I really do not see why you should not have gone without me," the
Marquis said, poking his head out of his dressing-room.

"Impossible," said the Marchioness.

"I don't see it at all."

"If he should appear on the scene ready to carry her off, what should
I have done?"

Then the Marquis drew his head in again, and went on with his
dressing. What, indeed, could he do himself if the man were to appear
on the scene, and if his daughter should declare herself willing to
go off with him?

When the Marquis went to his dinner party the Marchioness dined with
Lady Frances. There was no one else present but the two servants who
waited on them, and hardly a word was spoken. The Marchioness felt
that an awful silence was becoming in the situation. Lady Frances
merely determined more strongly than ever that the situation should
not last very long. She would go abroad now, but would let her father
understand that the kind of life planned out for her was one that she
could not endure. If she was supposed to have disgraced her position,
let her be sent away.

As soon as the melancholy meal was over the two ladies separated, the
Marchioness going up-stairs among her own children. A more careful,
more affectionate, perhaps, I may say, a more idolatrous mother never
lived. Every little want belonging to them,--for even little lords
have wants,--was a care to her. To see them washed and put in and out
of their duds was