hild never looked more
beautiful--one half queenly effrontery, her disordered locks against the
window-light making a halo of rough gold round a slight flush its wearer
would resent the name of shame for; the other half, the visible
flinching from confession she would resent still more for justifying it.

"Why--do you know anything against him?"

"Darling!--you might marry anybody, and you know it."

"Oh yes; I know all about it. I prefer this one. But _do_ you know
anything against him?"

"Only ... only his _eyes_!... Oh dear! You know you said so yourself
yesterday--that the sight was destroyed...."

"Who destroyed his sight? Tell me that!"

"If you are going to take that tone, Gwendolen, I really cannot talk
about it. You and your father must settle it between you somehow. It was
an accident--a very terrible accident, I know--but I must go away to
dress. It's eight.... Anyhow, _one_ thing, dear! You haven't given him
any encouragement--at least, I _hope_ not...."

"Given him any what?"

"Any practical encouragement ... any ..."

"Oh yes--any quantity." She has to quash that flinching and brazen it
out. One way is as good as another. "I didn't tell him to pull my hair
down, though. I didn't mind. But if he had been able to see I should
have been much more strict."

"Gwen dear--you are perfectly ... _shameless_!... Well--you are a very
odd girl...." This is concession; oddity is not shamelessness.

"Come, mamma, be reasonable! If you can't see anybody and you mayn't
touch them, it comes down to making remarks at a respectful distance,
and then it's no better than acquaintance--visiting and leaving cards
and that sort of thing.... Come in!" Lutwyche interrupted with hot
water, her expression saying distinctly:--"I am a young woman of
unimpeachable character, who can come into a room where a titled lady
and her daughter are at loggerheads, no doubt about a love-affair, and
can shut my eyes to the visible and my ears to the audible. Go it!"

Nevertheless, the disputants seemed to prefer suspension of their
discussion, and the elder lady departed, saying they would both be late
for dinner.

This was the first short colloquy. The second was in the Earl's
dressing-room, from which he was emerging when his wife, looking scared,
met him coming out in _grande tenue_ through the district common to
both, the room Earls and Countesses had occupied from time immemorial.
He saw there was some excitement afoot, but wa