s the heart grow fonder,' as the song says, but also makes
it very turbulent and unruly. So I shall leave matters entirely
alone--leave her to settle it with her mother.... Your sister knows of
this, I suppose?"

"Oh yes! Gwen told her of it across the table at dinner-time."

"Across the table at dinner-time? _Imp_-ossible!"

"Well--look at this!" Adrian produces from his dressing-gown pocket a
piece of paper, much crumpled, with a gilt frill all round, and holds it
out for the Earl to take. While the latter deciphers it at his
candle-lamp, he goes on to give its history. Irene had been back very
late from the Mackworth Clarkes, and had missed the soup. She had not
spoken with Gwen at all, and as soon as dessert had effloresced into
little _confetti_, had been told by that young lady to catch, the thing
thrown being the wrapper of one of these, rolled up and scribbled on.
"She brought it up for me to see," says Adrian, without thought of cruel
fact. Blind people often speak thus.

The Earl cannot help laughing at what he reads aloud. "'I am going to
marry your brother'--that's all!" he says. "That's what she borrowed
Lord Cumberworld's pencil for. Really Gwen _is_...!" But this wild
daughter of his is beyond words to describe, and he gives her up.

If the Duke's son had not been honourable, he might have peeped and
known his own fate. For he had been entrusted with this missive, to hand
across the table to Irene lower down. Lady Gwendolen ought to have given
it to Mr. Norbury, to hand to Miss Torrens on a tray. That was Mr.
Norbury's opinion.

When the Earl looked up from deciphering the pencil-scrawl, he saw that
Adrian's powers were visibly flagging; and no wonder, convalescence
considered, and such a day of strain and excitement. He rose to go,
saying:--"You see what I want--nothing in a hurry."

Adrian's words were slipping away from him as he replied, or tried to
reply:--"I see. If I were to get my eyes back, Gwen might change her
mind." But he failed over the last two letters. Mrs. Bailey, still in
charge, lived on the other side of a door, at which the Earl tapped,
causing a scuttling and a prompt appearance of the good creature, who
seemed to have an ambush of grog ready to spring on her patient. It was
what was wanted.

"Remember this, Mr. Torrens," said his lordship, when a rally encouraged
him to add a postscript, "that in spite of what you say, I feel just as
Gwen does, that the blame of your mishap