, at a moonlight dance
on a lawn dangerously flanked with lonely sheltered avenues and
whispering trees; and the soft rose-laden air of a dawn that broke on
tired musicians and unexhausted dissipation, and his headlong reckless
surrender to her irresistible intoxication; and, to say the truth, the
Juliet-like acknowledgment it met with. He would have been better
pleased, with the world as it was now, if less of that Juliet had been
recognisable in this mature dame. The thought made him bite his lip. He
exclaimed against his recognition perforce, and compelled himself to
think of the question before the house.

Yes--he could quite understand why the girl's parents should find it
difficult to say to his son:--"We know that Gwen is giving her love to
make amends for a wrong, as she thinks, done by ourselves; and whatever
personal sacrifice we should be glad to make as compensation for it, we
have no right to allow our daughter to imperil her happiness." But he
had a hazy recollection of Adrian's telling him something of the Earl
himself having mooted this view of the subject at the outset of the
engagement; and, hearing no more of it, had supposed the point to be
disposed of. Why did Lady Ancester wish to impress it on him now?

Then it gradually became clearer, as he thought it out, that it would
have been impossible to form conclusions at once. The Earl had no doubt
expressed a suspicion at first. But his daughter would never have
confessed her motives to _him_. What more likely than that her mother
should gradually command her confidence, and see that Adrian could not
arrive at a full appreciation of them without an ungracious persistence
on the part of herself and her husband, unless it were impressed on him
by some member of the young man's family? His father, naturally.

He felt perceptibly gratified that Gwen's mother should take it for
granted that he would feel as she did about the injustice to her
daughter of allowing her to sacrifice herself to make amends for a fault
of her parents. It was a question of sensitive honour, and she had
credited him rightly with possessing it. At least, he hoped so. And
though he was certainly not a clever man, the Squire of Pensham was the
very soul of fair play. His division of the County knew both facts. Now,
it seemed to him that it would be fairer play on his part to throw his
influence into the scale on the side of the Countess, and protest
against the marriage unless some