se me of a falsehood, George? First one arrangement
had been made, and then another."

"I had been told before how it was to be."

"Who told you? I can only answer for myself."

"And why did you waltz?"

"Because you had withdrawn your foolish objection. Why should I not
dance like other people? Papa does not think it wrong?"

"Your father has nothing to do with it."

"If you ill-treat me, George, papa must have something to do with it.
Do you think he will see me disgraced before a room full of people, as
you did yesterday, and hold his tongue? Of course you are my husband,
but he is still my father; and if I want protection he will protect
me."

"I will protect you," said Lord George, stamping his foot upon the
floor.

"Yes; by burying me somewhere. That is what you say you mean to do. And
why? Because you get some silly nonsense into your head, and then make
yourself and me ridiculous in public. If you think I am what you seem
to suspect, you had better let papa have me back again,--though that is
so horrible that I can hardly bring myself to think of it. If you do
not think so, surely you should beg my pardon for the affront you put
on me last night."

This was a way in which he had certainly not looked at the matter. Beg
her pardon! He, as a husband, beg a wife's pardon under any
circumstances! And beg her pardon for having carried her away from a
house in which she had manifestly disobeyed him. No, indeed. But then
he was quite as strongly opposed to that other idea of sending her back
to her father, as a man might send a wife who had disgraced herself.
Anything would be better than that. If she would only acknowledge that
she had been indiscreet, they would go down together into Brothershire,
and all might be comfortable. Though she was angry with him, obstinate
and rebellious, yet his heart was softened to her because she did not
throw the woman's love-letter in his teeth. He had felt that here would
be his great difficulty, but his difficulty now arose rather from the
generosity which kept her silent on the subject. "What I did," he said,
"I did to protect you."

"Such protection was an insult." Then she left the room before he had
tasted his tea or his toast. She had heard her father's knock, and knew
that she would find him in the drawing-room. She had made up her mind
how she would tell the story to him; but when she was with him he would
have no story told at all. He declared that he knew every