ulgent, and that she felt a comfortable assurance that he was not
angry with her, rather troubled little Lady Constance Quayle. She rose
to her feet, and stood before him again, as a child about to recite a
lesson.

"I think," she said, "I must go. Louisa may want me. Thank you so much.
The necklace is quite lovely. I never saw one like it. I like so many
colours. They remind me of flowers, or of the colours at sunset in the
sky. I shall like to wear this very much. You--you will forgive me for
having been foolish--or if I have bored you?"

Her bosom rose and fell, and the words came breathlessly.

"I shall see you at Lady Combmartin's? So--so now I will go."

And with that she departed, leaving Richard more in love with her,
somehow, than he had ever been before or had ever thought to be.

CHAPTER VI

IN WHICH HONORIA ST. QUENTIN TAKES THE FIELD

It had been agreed that the marriage should take place, in the country,
one day in the first week of August. This at Richard's request. Then
the young man asked a further favour, namely, that the ceremony might
be performed in the private chapel at Brockhurst, rather than in the
Whitney parish church. This last proposal, it must be owned, when made
to him by Lady Calmady, caused Lord Fallowfeild great searchings of
heart.

"I give you my word, my dear boy, I never felt more awkward in my
life," he said, subsequently, to his chosen confidant, Shotover. "Can
quite understand Calmady doesn't care to court publicity. Told his
mother I quite understood. Shouldn't care to court it myself if I had
the misfortune to share his--well, personal peculiarities, don't you
know, poor young fellow. Still this seems to me an uncomfortable, hole
and corner sort of way of behaving to one's daughter--marrying her at
his house instead of from my own. I don't half approve of it. Looks a
little as if we were rather ashamed of the whole business."

"Well, perhaps we are," Lord Shotover remarked.

"For God's sake, then, don't mention it!" the elder man broke out, with
unprecedented asperity. "Don't approve of strong language," he added
hastily. "Never did approve of it, and very rarely employ it myself. An
educated man ought to be able to express himself quite sufficiently
clearly without having recourse to it. Still, I must own this
engagement of Constance's has upset me more than almost any event of my
life. Nasty, anxious work marrying your daughters. Heavy responsibility
marryi