up for the wrong I have done
him....'"

Sir Hamilton interrupted warmly. "No, Lady Ancester, no! I cannot allow
that to be said! We have never thought of it that way. We do not think
of it that way. We never shall think of it that way. It was an accident,
pure and simple. It might have happened to _his_ son, on my bit of
preserved land. All the owners about shoot stray dogs."

"But if it had, and you had had a mad daughter--because Gwen is a mad
girl, if ever there was one--who got a Quixotic idea like this in her
head, you would have felt exactly as my husband does."

"Should I? Well--I suppose I should. No, I don't think I should....
Well--at least...!"

"At least, what?"

"At least, if I had supposed that ... that Irene, for instance"--Sir
Hamilton's mind required a tangible reality to rest upon--"that Irene
was head over ears in love with some man...." He did not seem to have
his conclusion ready.

"And you _are_ convinced that my daughter is head over ears, in love
with your son? Is that it?" The Countess spoke rather coldly, and Sir
Hamilton felt uncomfortable. "It seems to me that the whole thing turns
on that. Are you certain that you have not _allowed_ yourself to be
convinced?"

"Allowed myself--I'm not sure I understand."

"With less proof, I mean, than her parents have a right to ask for--less
than you would have asked yourself in the reverse case?"

Sir Hamilton felt more uncomfortable. He ought to have answered that he
was very far from certain. But an Englishman is nothing if not a
prevaricator; he calls it being scrupulously truthful. "I have no right
to catechize Lady Gwendolen," said he.

"And her parents have, of course. I see. But if her parents, _are_
convinced--as I certainly am in this case, and I think my husband is,
almost--that there is an unreal element on Gwen's side, it ought to ...
to carry weight with you."

"It would carry weight. It does carry weight. But ... However, I must
talk to Lady Torrens about this." He appeared very uncomfortable indeed,
and was visibly flushed. But that may have been the red glow of a dying
fire in the half-light, or half-darkness, striking his face as he rested
his elbow on the chimney-piece, while its hand wandered from his brow to
his chin, expressing irresolute perplexity. Until, as she sat silent, as
though satisfied that he could have now no doubt about her wishes, he
spoke again, abruptly. "I wish you would tell me exactly what you
suppos