ow awaited his daughter, that he could
not keep himself quiet. It seemed to him that a just Providence had
interfered to take that child away. And as the Marquis hated him, so
did he hate the Marquis. He had been willing at first to fight the
battle fairly without personal animosity. On the Marquis's first
arrival he had offered him the right hand of fellowship. He remembered
it all accurately,--how the Marquis had on that occasion ill-used and
insulted him. No man knew better than the Dean when he was well-treated
and when ill-treated. And then this lord had sent for him for the very
purpose of injuring and wounding him through his daughter's name. His
wrath on that occasion had not all expended itself in the blow. After
that word had been spoken he was the man's enemy for ever. There could
be no forgiveness. He could not find room in his heart for even a spark
of pity because the man had lost an only child. Had not the man tried
to do worse than kill his only child--his daughter? Now the
pseudo-Popenjoy was dead, and the Dean was in a turmoil of triumph. It
was essential to him that he should see his son-in-law. His son-in-law
must be made to understand what it would be to be the father of the
future Marquis of Brotherton.

"I think I'll just step across to the inn," said Jack, when the Dean
had left them.

"And we'll have a game of croquet when you come back. I do like
croquet, though papa laughs at me. I think I like all games. It is so
nice to be doing something."

Jack sauntered back to the inn, chiefly that he might have a further
opportunity of considering what he would say to her. And he did make up
his mind. He would play croquet with all his might, and behave to her
as though she were his dearest sister.

CHAPTER LV.

HOW COULD HE HELP IT?

When he returned she was out in the garden with her hat on and a mallet
in her hand; but she was seated on one of a cluster of garden-chairs
under a great cedar tree. "I think it's almost too hot to play," she
said. It was an August afternoon, and the sun was very bright in the
heavens. Jack was of course quite willing to sit under the cedar-tree
instead of playing croquet. He was prepared to do whatever she wished.
If he could only know what subjects she would prefer, he would talk
about them and nothing else. "How do you think papa is looking?" she
asked.

"He always looks well."

"Ah; he was made dreadfully unhappy by that affair up in London. He
nev