n it would no longer be rash to marry, and he knew now that there
was the makings of a domestic man in him. He never could have believed
that he would take an interest in the sprawling of the baby upon its
mother's knee, and he allowed to himself that it might be sweet to have
that scene taking place in a house of his own. Ah! but the baby would
have to be Elinor's. It must be Elinor who should sit on that low
chair with the firelight on her face. And that was impossible. Helena
Gaythorne was an exceedingly nice girl, and he wished her every
success in life (which she attained some time after by marrying Lord
Ballinasloe, the eldest son of the Earl of Athenree, a marriage which
everybody approved), but he could not persuade himself to be in love
with her, though with the best will in the world.

During this time he did not correspond much with his relations in the
country. He had, indeed, some letters to answer from his father, in
which the interrogatories were very difficult: "Where has Mary
Dennistoun gone? What's become of Elinor and her baby? Has that
fashionable fellow of a husband deserted her? What's the meaning of the
move altogether?" And, "Mind you keep yourself out of it," his father
wrote. John had great trouble in wording his replies so as to convey as
little information as possible. "I believe Aunt Mary has got a house
somewhere in the North, probably to suit Elinor, who would be able to be
more with her if she were in that neighbourhood." (It must be confessed
that he thought this really clever as a way of getting over the question.)
"As for Compton, I know very little about him. He was never a man much
in my way." Mr. Tatham's household saw nothing remarkable in these
replies; upon which, however, they built an explanation, such as it was,
of the other circumstances. They concluded that it must be in order to
be near Elinor that Mrs. Dennistoun had gone to the North, and that it
was a very good thing that Elinor's husband was not a man who was in
John's way. "A scamp, if I ever saw one!" Mr. Tatham said. "But what's
that Jack says about Gaythorne? Mary, I remember Gaythorne years ago; a
capital friend for a young man. I'm glad your brother's making such nice
friends for himself; far better than mooning about that wretched little
cottage with Mary Dennistoun and her girl."

CHAPTER XXX.

It happened thus that it was not till the second autumn after the
settlement of the ladies in Waterdale, when