said Bertram,
attempting to laugh.

"Oh, yes; he's growing older, of course. But people should grow
better, George, and more contented; particularly when they have
everything about them that they can possibly want."

"Is not Arthur contented? He should get married then. Look at Adela
Gauntlet there!"

"Nonsense, George; pray don't put that into his head. What has he to
marry on? And as for Adela, if she has fifteen hundred pounds it will
be every farthing. And what's that for a family?"

"But Arthur has a living."

"Now, George, don't you be talking in that way to him. In one sense
he has a living; for, situated as things at present are, of course
I cannot hold it in my own hands. But in real truth he has not a
living--not of his own. Lord Stapledean, whom I shall always regard
as the very first nobleman in the land, and a credit to the whole
peerage, expressly gave the living to me."

"To you, aunt?"

"Yes, expressly to me. And now I fear Arthur is discontented because
he knows that I choose to remain mistress of my own house. I have
done everything I can to make the house pleasant to him. He has the
same study his dear father always had; and he has his own separate
horse in the stable, which is more than his father had."

"But Arthur has his fellowship."

"And where would his fellowship be if he married Adela Gauntlet? I
do hope you'll say something to him to make him more contented. I
say nothing about his conduct to me. I don't suppose he means to be
undutiful."

And then Bertram did manage to escape; and taking his hat he walked
away along that same river-path which led to West Putford--that same
path which Arthur Wilkinson had used to take when he went fishing
in those happy early days before promotion had come to him, and the
glories of manhood.

But George was not thinking now of Arthur or of Adela. He had
enough of sorrow in his own breast to make his mind selfish for the
present--Caroline Waddington was to be married! to be married so soon
after getting quit of her former bondage; to be married to Henry
Harcourt. There was no chance left now, no hope, no possibility that
he might regain the rich prize which he had flung away.

And did he wish to regain it? Was it not now clear enough that she
had never loved him? In May, while the fruits were filling, they had
separated; and now before they were well ripe she had given herself
to another! Love him! no, indeed. Was it possible that she should