out September, the countess thought; and she
suggested that they should not return to England for the marriage; it
could take place at the Embassy at Paris. There would be plenty of time
for discussing these details; the thing now was to settle the
engagement. It gave great delight; the earl, it is true, had some little
scruple, which he ventured to express to his wife.

"I ought to add my congratulation," he said; "but I am in doubt over it.
This seems a very suitable marriage, and Lady Marion is a most charming
girl. But what about that other girl, my lady?"

"That has nothing to do with us," she replied, haughtily. "I am prepared
to be very liberal; I shall not mind a thousand a year; she shall have
nothing to complain of."

Lord Lanswell did not feel quite so sure, but as he never had had any
management of his own affairs, it was too late to begin now. My lady
would probably bring a hornet's nest about her ears--that was her own
business; if he were any judge, either of looks or character, that young
girl, Leone, would not be so lightly set aside.

However, he said nothing. Lord Lanswell had learned one lesson in his
life; he had learned that "Silence was golden."

The matter was settled now; the duke had given his sanction, expressed
his delight; several of the highly connected and important families
belonging to the Lanswells and the Lesters had sent in their
congratulations; everything was in trim.

There was no need for the duke to remain; he would join them in Paris
for the wedding. No word was spoken on the subject between Lady Lanswell
and himself, but there was a certain tacit understanding that the
wedding must not take place in England, lest it should be disturbed.

The duke returned to England, taking back with him a sincere liking and
a warm admiration for Lord Chandos; he was impatient for the time to
come when he should be able to claim him as a relation of his own. The
remainder of the party stayed at Granada; there was plenty to interest
them in and about that charming city.

Some few days after his departure, Lord Chandos sought his mother. She
had felt anxious over him of late. He looked like anything but a happy
lover; he was thin, worn, and the face that had been so bright had grown
shadowed and careworn. My lady did not like it. Any man who had won such
a prize as Lady Erskine ought to feel delighted and show his pleasure.

So argued my lady, but her son did not seem to share her sentim