ll except the most profound contempt. My
aunt will, of course, accompany us; for yourself, you will do as you
please; but in any event I solemnly protest that I spurn your odious
pretensions, release myself hereby from an enforced and hideous
obligation, and in a phrase would not marry you in order to be Queen of
England."

"Miss Vining, I had hitherto admired you," the beau replied, with
fervor, "but now esteem is changed to adoration."

Then he turned to his Olivia. "Madam, you will pardon the awkward but
unavoidable publicity of my proceeding. I am a ruined man. I owe your
brother-in-law some L1500, and, oddly enough, I mean to pay him. I
must sell Jephcot and Skene Minor, but while life lasts I shall keep
Bessington and all its memories. Meanwhile there is a clergyman
waiting at Milanor. So marry me to-night, Olivia; and we will go back
to Bessington to-morrow."

"To Bessington----!" she said. It was as though she spoke of something
very sacred. Then very musically Lady Drogheda laughed, and to the eye
she was all flippancy. "La, William, I can't bury myself in the
country until the end of time," she said, "and make interminable
custards," she added, "and superintend the poultry," she said, "and for
recreation play short whist with the vicar."

And it seemed to Mr. Wycherley that he had gone divinely mad. "Don't
lie to me, Olivia. You are thinking there are yet a host of heiresses
who would be glad to be a famous beau's wife at however dear a cost.
But don't lie to me. Don't even try to seem the airy and bedizened
woman I have known so long. All that is over now. Death tapped us on
the shoulder, and, if only for a moment, the masks were dropped. And
life is changed now, oh, everything is changed! Then, come, my dear!
let us be wise and very honest. Let us concede it is still possible
for me to find another heiress, and for you to marry Remon; let us
grant it the only outcome of our common-sense! and for all that, laugh,
and fling away the pottage, and be more wise than reason."

She irresolutely said: "I cannot. Matters are altered now. It would
be madness----"

"It would undoubtedly be madness," Mr. Wycherley assented. "But then I
am so tired of being rational! Oh, Olivia," this former arbiter of
taste absurdly babbled, "if I lose you now it is forever! and there is
no health in me save when I am with you. Then alone I wish to do
praiseworthy things, to be all which the boy we know of