been no scene at Scumberg's Hotel.

For a time no doubt there was a hope on the part of Mr. Groschut
and his adherents that there would be some further police
interference;--that the Marquis would bring an action, or that the
magistrates would demand some inquiry. But nothing was done. The
Marquis endured his bruised back at any rate in silence. But there came
tidings to Brotherton that his lordship would not again be seen at
Manor Cross that year. The house had been kept up as though for him,
and he had certainly declared his purpose of returning when he left the
place. He had indeed spoken of living there almost to the end of
autumn. But early in July it became known that when he left Scumberg's
Hotel, he would go abroad;--and before the middle of July it was
intimated to Lady Alice, and through her to all Brotherton, that the
Dowager with her daughters and Lord George were going back to the old
house.

In the meantime Lady George was still at the deanery, and Lord George
at Cross Hall, and to the eyes of the world the husband had been
separated from his wife. His anger was certainly very deep, especially
against his wife's father. The fact that his commands had been
twice,--nay as he said thrice,--disobeyed rankled in his mind. He had
ordered her not to waltz, and she had waltzed with, as Lord George
thought, the most objectionable man in all London. He had ordered her
to leave town with him immediately after Mrs. Jones's ball, and she had
remained in town. He had ordered her now to leave her father and to
cleave to him; but she had cleft to her father and had deserted him.
What husband can do other than repudiate his wife under such
circumstances as these! He was moody, gloomy, silent, never speaking of
her, never going into Brotherton lest by chance he should see her; but
always thinking of her,--and always, always longing for her company.

She talked of him daily to her father, and was constant in her prayer
that they should not be made to quarrel. Having so long doubted whether
she could ever love him, she now could not understand the strength of
her own feeling. "Papa, mightn't I write to him," she said. But her
father thought that she should not herself take the first step at any
rate till the Marquis was gone. It was she who had in fact been
injured, and the overture should come from the other side. Then at
last, in a low whisper, hiding her face, she told her father a great
secret,--adding with a voice a l