ed her, Lady Charlotte would
have been crushed. But she was far too substantial as she lay back in
her chair, one large foot crossed over the other, and, as her husband
very well knew, the better man of the two. He walked away, murmuring
under his mustache words that would hardly have borne publicity, while
Lady Charlotte, through her glasses, made a minute study of a little
French portrait hanging some two yards from her.

Meanwhile the Elsmere party were stepping out into the warm damp of the
night. The storm had died away, but a soft Scotch mist of rain filled
the air. Everything was dark, save for a few ghostly glimmerings through
the trees of the avenue; and there was a strong sweet smell of wet earth
and grass. Rose had drawn the hood of her waterproof over her head,
and her face gleamed an indistinct whiteness from its shelter. Oh this
leaping pulse--this bright glow of expectation! How had she made that
stupid blunder about his going? Oh, it was Catherine's mistake, of
course, at the beginning. But what matter? Here, they were in the dark,
side by side, friends now, friends always. Catherine should not spoil
their last walk together. She felt a passionate trust that he would not
allow it.

'Wifie!' exclaimed Robert, drawing her a little apart, 'do you know
it has just occurred to me that, as I was going through the park this
afternoon by the lower footpath, I crossed Henslowe coming away from
the house. Of course this is what has happened! _He_ has told his story
first. No doubt just before I met him he had been giving the Squire a
full and particular account--_a la_ Henslowe--of my proceedings since I
came. Henslowe lays it on thick--paints with a will. The Squire receives
me afterward as the meddlesome, pragmatical priest he understands me to
be; puts his foot down to begin with; and, _hinc illae lacrymae_. It's as
clear as daylight! I thought that man had an odd twist of the lip as he
passed me.'

'Then a disagreeable evening will be the worst of it,' said Catherine
proudly. 'I imagine, Robert, you can defend yourself against that bad
man?'

'He has got the start; he has no scruples; and it remains to be seen
whether the Squire has a heart to appeal to,' replied the young Rector
with sore reflectiveness. 'Oh, Catherine, have you ever thought, wifie,
what a business it will be for us if I can't make friends with that man?
Here we are at his gates--all our people in his power; the comfort,
at any rate, o