She will hardly dare. But if she does, that is no affair of yours. You
can have nothing to do with it till he shall speak to you."

"You would not tell him?"

"No; I should not even think about it. She is below your notice. If it
should be the case that she dares to speak to him, and that he should
be weak enough to be moved by what such a creature can say to him, you
will, I am sure, have dignity enough to hold your own with him. Tell
him that you think too much of his honour as well of your own to make
it necessary for him to trouble himself. But he will know that himself,
and if he does speak to you, he will speak only in pity for her." All
this he said slowly and seriously, looking as she had sometimes seen
him look when preaching in the cathedral. And she believed him now as
she always believed him then, and was in a great measure comforted.

But she could not but be surprised that her father should so absolutely
refuse to entertain the idea that any intimacy between herself and
Captain De Baron should be injurious. It gratified her that it should
be so, but nevertheless she was surprised. She had endeavoured to
examine the question by her own lights, but had failed in answering it.
She knew well enough that she liked the man. She had discovered in him
the realization of those early dreams. His society was in every respect
pleasant to her. He was full of playfulness, and yet always gentle. He
was not very clever, but clever enough. She had made the mistake in
life,--or rather others had made it for her,--of taking herself too
soon from her playthings and devoting herself to the stern reality of a
husband. She understood something of this, and liked to think that she
might amuse herself innocently with such a one as Jack De Baron. She
was sure that she did not love him,--that there was no danger of her
loving him; and she was quite confident also that he did not love her.
But yet,--yet there had been a doubt on her mind. Innocent as it all
was, there might be cause of offence to her husband. It was this
thought that had made her sometimes long to be taken away from London
and be immured amidst the dulness of Cross Hall. But of such dangers
and of such fears her father saw nothing. Her father simply bade her to
maintain her own dignity and have her own way. Perhaps her father was
right.

On the next day the Dean and his son-in-law went, according to
appointment, to Mr. Battle. Mr. Battle received them with his usu