her. She must be his altogether, from the crown
of her head to the soles of her feet,--and that without delay. His
hunting and his yacht, his politics and his friendships, were nothing
to him without Marion Fay. When she came into the room, his heart was
in sympathy with her, but by no means his mind.

"My lord," she said, letting her hand lie willingly between the
pressure of his two, "you may guess what we suffered when we heard
the report, and how we felt when we learnt the truth."

"You got my telegram? I sent it as soon as I began to understand how
foolish the people had been."

"Oh yes, my lord. It was so good of you!"

"Marion, will you do something for me?"

"What shall I do, my lord?"

"Don't call me, 'my lord.'"

"But it is proper."

"It is most improper, and abominable, and unnatural."

"Lord Hampstead!"

"I hate it. You and I can understand each other, at any rate."

"I hope so."

"I hate it from everybody. I can't tell the servants not to do it.
They wouldn't understand me. But from you! It seems always as though
you were laughing at me."

"Laugh at you!"

"You may if you like it. What is it you may not do with me? If it
were really a joke, if you were quizzing, I shouldn't mind it." He
held her hand the whole time, and she did not attempt to withdraw it.
What did her hand signify? If she could only so manage with him on
that day that he should be satisfied to be happy, and not trouble her
with any request. "Marion," he said, drawing her towards him.

"Sit down, my lord. Well. I won't. You shan't be called my lord
to-day, because I am so happy to see you;--because you have had so
great an escape."

"But I didn't have any escape."

If only she could keep him in this way! If he would only talk to
her about anything but his passion! "It seemed to me so, of course.
Father was broken-hearted about it. He was as bad as I. Think of
father going down without his tea to Hendon Hall, and driving the
poor people there all out of their wits."

"Everybody was out of his wits."

"I was," she said, bobbing her head at him. She was just so far from
him, she thought, as to be safe from any impetuous movement. "And
Hannah was nearly as bad." Hannah was the old woman. "You may imagine
we had a wretched night of it."

"And all about nothing," said he, falling into her mood in the
moment. "But think of poor Walker."

"Yes, indeed! I suppose he has friends, too, who loved him, as--as
some people lo