ard that I am going to be married?"

"Denzil told me when he received your letter."

"I am afraid Miss Mumbray will hardly belong to your circle, but as
Mrs. Glazzard--that will be a different thing. You won't forbid me to
come here because of this alliance?"

Lilian showed surprise and perplexity.

"I mean, because I am engaged to the daughter of a Tory."

"Oh, what difference could that possibly make?"

"None, I hope. You know that I am not very zealous as a party-man."

In this his second conversation with Lilian, Glazzard analysed more
completely the charm which she had before exercised upon him. He was
thoroughly aware of the trials her nature was enduring, and his power
of sympathetic insight enabled him to read upon her countenance, in her
tones, precisely what Lilian imagined she could conceal. Amid
surroundings such as those of the newly furnished house, she seemed to
him a priceless gem in a gaudy setting; he felt (and with justice) that
the little drawing-room at Clapham, which spoke in so many details of
her own taste, was a much more suitable home for her. What could be
said of the man who had thus transferred her, all (or chiefly) for the
sake of getting elected to Parliament? Quarrier had no true
appreciation of the woman with whose life and happiness he was
entrusted. He was devoted to her, no doubt, but with a devotion not
much more clairvoyant than would have distinguished one of his
favourite Vikings.

Glazzard, whilst liking Denzil, had never held him in much esteem. Of
late, his feelings had become strongly tinged with contempt. And now,
with the contempt there blended a strain of jealousy.

True that he himself had caught eagerly at the hope of entering
Parliament; but it was the impulse of a man who knew his life to be
falling into ruin, who welcomed any suggestion that would save him from
final and fatal apathy--of a man whose existence had always been
loveless--who, with passionate ideals, had never known anything but a
venal embrace. In Quarrier's position, with abounding resources, with
the love of such a woman as this, what would he not have made of life?
Would it ever have occurred to _him_ to wear a mask of vulgar deceit,
to condemn his exquisite companion to a hateful martyrdom, that he
might attain the dizzy height of M.P.-ship for Polterham?

He compassionated Lilian, and at the same time he was angry with her.
He looked upon her beauty, her gentle spirit, with tenderness, and