Gerard Maule, as he sat upstairs half undressed in his bedroom that night didn’t like it. He hardly knew what it was that he did not like — but he felt that there was something wrong. He thought that Lord Chiltern had not been warranted in speaking to him with a tone of authority, and in talking of a brother’s position — and the rest of it. He had lacked the presence of mind for saying anything at the moment; but he must say something sooner or later. He wasn’t going to be driven by Lord Chiltern. When he looked back at his own conduct he thought that it had been more than noble — almost romantic. He had fallen in love with Miss Palliser, and spoken his love out freely, without any reference to money. He didn’t know what more any fellow could have done. As to his marrying out of hand, the day after his engagement, as a man of fortune can do, everybody must have known that that was out of the question. Adelaide of course had known it. It had been suggested to him that he should consult his father as to living at Maule Abbey. Now if there was one thing he hated more than another, it was consulting his father; and yet he had done it. He had asked for a loan of the old house in perfect faith, and it was not his fault that it had been refused. He could not make a house to live in, nor could he coin a fortune. He had oe800 a-year of his own, but of course he owed a little money. Men with such incomes always do owe a little money. It was almost impossible that he should marry quite at once. It was not his fault that Adelaide had no fortune of her own. When he fell in love with her he had been a great deal too generous to think of fortune, and that ought to he remembered now to his credit. Such was the sum of his thoughts, and his anger spread itself from Lord Chiltern even on to Adelaide herself. Chiltern would hardly have spoken in that way unless she had complained. She, no doubt, had been speaking to Lady Chiltern, and Lady Chiltern had passed it on to her husband. He would have it out with Adelaide on the next morning — quite decidedly. And he would make Lord Chiltern understand that he would not endure interference. He was quite ready to leave Harrington Hall at a moment’s notice if he were ill-treated. This was the humour in which Gerard Maule put himself to bed that night.

On the following morning he was very late at breakfast — so late that Lord Chiltern had gone over to the kennels. As he was dressing he had resolved that it would be fitting that he should speak again to his host before he said anything to Adelaide that might appear to impute blame to her. He would ask Chiltern whether anything was meant by what had been said over-night. But, as it happened, Adelaide had been left alone to pour out his tea for him, and — as the reader will understand to have been certain on such an occasion — they were left together for an hour in the breakfast parlour. It was impossible that such an hour should be passed without some reference to the grievance which was lying heavy on his heart. “Late; I should think you are,” said Adelaide laughing. “It is nearly eleven. Lord Chiltern has been out an hour. I suppose you never get up early except for hunting.”

“People always think it is so wonderfully virtuous to get up. What’s the use of it?”

“Your breakfast is so cold.”

“I don’t care about that. I suppose they can boil me an egg. I was very seedy when I went to bed.”

“You smoked too many cigars, sir.”

“No, I didn’t; but Chiltern was saying things that I didn’t like.” Adelaide’s face at once became very serious. “Yes, a good deal of sugar, please. I don’t care about toast, and anything does for me. He has gone to the kennels, has he?”

“He said he should. What was he saying last night?”

“Nothing particular. He has a way of blowing up, you know; and he looks at one just as if he expected that everybody was to do just what he chooses.”

“You didn’t quarrel.”

“Not at all; I went off to bed without saying a word. I hate jaws. I shall just put it right this morning; that’s all.”

“Was it about me, Gerard?”

“It doesn’t signify the least.”

“But it does signify. If you and he were to quarrel would it not signify to me very much? How could I stay here with them, or go up to London with them, if you and he had really quarrelled? You must tell me. I know that it was about me.” Then she came and sat close to him. “Gerard,” she continued, “I don’t think you understand how much everything is to me that concerns you.”

When he began to reflect, he could not quite recollect what it was that Lord Chiltern had said to him. He did remember that something had been suggested about a brother and sister which had implied that Adelaide might want protection, but there was nothing unnatural or other than kind in the position which Lord Chiltern had declared that he would assume. “He seemed to think that I wasn’t treating you well,” said he, turning round from the breakfast-table to the fire, “and that is a sort of thing I can’t stand.”

“I have never said so, Gerard.”

“I don’t know what it is that he expects, or why he should interfere at all. I can’t bear to be interfered with. What does he know about it? He has had somebody to pay everything for him half a dozen times, but I have to look out for myself.”

“What does all this mean?”

“You would ask me, you know. I am bothered out of my life by ever so many things, and now he comes and adds his botheration.”

“What bothers you, Gerard? If anything bothers you, surely you will tell me. If there has been anything to trouble you since you saw your father why have you not written and told me? Is your trouble about me?”

“Well, of course it is, in a sort of way.”

“I will not be a trouble to you.”

“Now you are going to misunderstand me! Of course, you are not a trouble to me. You know that I love you better than anything in the world.”

“I hope so.”

“Of course I do.” Then he put his arm round her waist and pressed her to his bosom. “But what can a man do? When Lady Chiltern recommended that I should go to my father and tell him, I did it, I knew that no good could come of it. He wouldn’t lift his hand to do anything for me.”

“How horrid that is!”

“He thinks it a shame that I should have my uncle’s money, though he never had any more right to it than that man out there. He is always saying that I am better off than he is.”

“I suppose you are.”

“I am very badly off, I know that. People seem to think that oe800 is ever so much, but I find it to be very little.”

“And it will be much less if you are married,” said Adelaide gravely.

“Of course, everything must be changed, I must sell my horses, and we must cut and run, and go and live at Boulogne, I suppose. But a man can’t do that kind of thing all in a moment. Then Chiltern comes and talks as though he were Virtue personified. What business is it of his?”

Then Adelaide became still more grave. She had now removed herself from his embrace, and was standing a little apart from him on the rug. She did not answer him at first; and when she did so, she spoke very slowly. “We have been rash, I fear; and have done what we have done without sufficient thought.”

“I don’t say that at all.”

“But I do. It does seem now that we have been imprudent.” Then she smiled as she completed her speech. “There had better be no engagement between us.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because it is quite clear that it has been a trouble to you rather than a happiness.”

“I wouldn’t give it up for all the world.”

“But it will be better. I had not thought about it as I should have done. I did not understand that the prospect of marrying would make you — so very poor. I see it now. You had better tell Lord Chiltern that it is — done with, and I will tell her the same. It will be better; and I will go back to Italy at once.”

“Certainly not. It is not done with, and it shall not be done with.”

“Do you think I will marry the man I love when he tells me that by — marrying — me he will be — banished to — Bou — logne? You had better see Lord Chiltern; indeed you had.” And then she walked out of the room.

Then came upon him at once a feeling that he had behaved badly; and yet he had been so generous, so full of intentions to be devoted and true! He had never for a moment thought of breaking off the match, and would not think of it now. He loved her better than ever, and would live only with the intention of making her his wife. But he certainly should not have talked to her of his poverty, nor should he have mentioned Boulogne. And yet what should he have done? She would cross-question him about Lord Chiltern, and it was so essentially necessary that he should make her understand his real condition. It had all come from that man’s unjustifiable interference — as he would at once go and tell him. Of course he would marry Adelaide, but the marriage must be delayed. Everybody waits twelve months before they are married; and why should she not wait? He was miserable because he knew that he had made her unhappy — but the fault had been with Lord Chiltern. He would speak his mind frankly to Chiltern, and then would explain with loving tenderness to his Adelaide that they would still be all in all to each other, but that a short year must elapse before he could put his house in order for her. After that he would sell his horses. That resolve was in itself so great that he did not think it necessary at the present moment to invent any more plans for the future. So he went out into the hall, took his hat, and marched off to the kernels.

At the kennels he found Lord Chiltern surrounded by the denizens of the hunt. His huntsman, with the kennelman and feeder, and two whips, and old Doggett were all there, and the Master of the Hounds was in the middle of his business. The dogs were divided by ages, as well as by sex, and were being brought out and examined. Old Doggett was giving advice, differing almost always from Cox, the huntsman, as to the propriety of keeping this hound or of cashiering that. Nose, pace, strength, and docility were all questioned with an eagerness hardly known in any other business; and on each question Lord Chiltern listened to everybody, and then decided with a single word. When he had once resolved, nothing further urged by any man then could avail anything. Jove never was so autocratic, and certainly never so much in earnest. From the look of Lord Chiltern’s brow it almost seemed as though this weight of empire must be ............