guarantee could be found that there was
no heroic taint in the bride's motives. In this he was consciously
influenced by the thought that _his_ side would suffer by his own
action, so his own motives were tainted. A chivalric instinct,
unbalanced by reasoning power, is so very apt to decide--on
principle--against its owner's interests. Behind this there may have
been a saving clause, to the effect that the young people might be
relied on to pay no attention to their seniors' wishes, or anything
else. Gwen was on her way to twenty-one, and then parental authority
would expire. Meanwhile a little delay would do no harm. For the
present, he could only rub the facts into his son, and leave them to do
their worst. He would speak to him at the next opportunity.

* * * * *

Home came Adrian and Irene, and filled the silence of the house with
voices. Something was afoot, clearly; something not unpleasant, to judge
by the laugh of the latter. The room-door, whose hasp never bit
properly--causing Adrian to perpetrate an atrocious joke about a
disappointed Cleopatra--swung wide with an unseen cause, which was
revealed by a soft nose, a dog's, in contact with Sir Hamilton's hand.
He acknowledged Achilles, who trotted away satisfied, to complete an
examination of all the other inmates of the house, his invariable custom
after an outing. He would ratify or sanction them, and drop asleep with
a clear conscience.

"Hay? What's all that? What's all the rumpus?" says the Baronet, outside
at the stair-top. The sounds of the voices are pleasant and welcome to
him, and he courts their banishment of the past his old _fiancee_ had
dragged from its sepulchre. Bury it again and forget it! "What's all the
noise about? What's all the chatterboxing?" For the good gentleman
always imputes to his offspring a volubility and a plethora of language
far in excess of any meaning it conveys. His own attitude, he implies,
is one of weighty consideration and temperate but forcible judgment.

"What's the chatterboxing?" says the beautiful daughter, who kisses him
on both sides--and she and her skirts and her voice fill the discreet
country-house to the brim, and make its owner insignificant. "What's the
chatterboxing, indeed? Why,--it's good news for a silly old daddy!
That's what it is. Now come in and I'll sit on his knee and tell him."
And by the time Adrian has felt his way to the drawing-room, the good
news has been sp