ined with
Waife, the Morleys alone shared, with host and secretary, the melancholy
entertainment. George was no less silent than Fairthorn; Darrell's
manner perplexed him. Mrs. Morley, not admitted into her husband's
confidence in secrets that concerned others, though in all his own he
was to her conjugal sight _pellucidior vitro_, was the chief talker;
and being the best woman in the world, ever wishing to say something
pleasant, she fell to praising the dear old family pictures that scowled
at her from the wall, and informed Fairthorn that she had made great
progress with her sketch of the old house as seen from the lake, and was
in doubt whether she should introduce in the foreground some figures of
the olden time, as in Nash's Views of Baronial Mansions. But not a
word could she coax out of Fairthorn; and when she turned to appeal to
Darrell, the host suddenly addressed to George a question as to the
text and authorities by which the Papal Church defends its doctrine
of Purgatory. That entailed a long and, no doubt, erudite reply, which
lasted not only through the rest of the dinner, but till Mrs. Motley,
edified by the discourse, and delighted to notice the undeviating
attention which Darrell paid to her distinguished spouse, took advantage
of the first full stop, and retired. Fairthorn finished his bottle of
port, and, far from convinced that there was no Purgatory, but inclined
to advance the novel heresy that Purgatory sometimes commenced on this
side the grave--slinked away, and was seen no more that night; neither
was his flute heard.

Then Darrell rose and said: "I shall go up-stairs to our sick friend for
a few minutes; may I find you here when I come back? Your visit to him
can follow mine."

On entering Waife's room, Darrell went straight forward towards Sophy,
and cut off her retreat.

"Fair guest," said he, with a grace and tenderness of manner which,
when he pleased it, could be ineffably bewitching--"teach me some art
by which in future rather to detain than to scare away the presence
in which a duller age than mine could still recognise the charms
that subdue the young." He led her back gently to the seat she had
deserted--placed himself next to her--addressed a few cordial queries to
Waife about his health and comforts--and then said: "You must not leave
me for some days yet. I have written by this post to my kinsman, Lionel
Haughton. I have refused to be his ambassador at a court in which, by
al