On Sunday Hampstead was nervous and fidgety. He had at one time thought that it would be the very day for him to go to Holloway. He would be sure to find Mrs. Roden at home after church, and then, if he could carry things to the necessary length, he might also see Zachary Fay. But on consideration it appeared to him that Sunday would not suit his purpose. George Roden would be there, and would be sadly in the way. And the Quaker himself would be in the way, as it would be necessary that he should have some preliminary interview with Marion before anything could be serviceably said to her father. He was driven, therefore, to postpone his visit. Nor would Monday do, as he knew enough of the manners of Paradise Row to be aware that on Monday Mrs. Vincent would certainly be there. It would be his object, if things could be made to go pleasantly, first to see Mrs. Roden for a few minutes, and then to spend as much of the afternoon as might be possible with Marion Fay. He therefore fixed on the Tuesday for his purpose, and having telegraphed about the country for his horses, groom, and other appurtenances, he went down to Leighton on the Monday, and consoled himself with a day\'s hunting with the staghounds.

On his return his sister spoke to him very seriously as to her own affairs. "Is not this almost silly, John, about Mr. Roden not coming here?"

"Not silly at all, according to my ideas."

"All the world knows that we are engaged. The very servants have heard of it. That horrid young man who came from the Post Office was aware of it."

"What has all that to do with it?"

"If it has been made public in that way, what can be the object of keeping us apart? Mamma no doubt told her sister, and Lady Persiflage has published it everywhere. Her daughter is going to marry a duke, and it has crowned her triumph to let it be known that I am going to marry only a Post Office clerk. I don\'t begrudge her that in the least. But as they have talked about it so much, they ought, at any rate, to let me have my Post Office clerk."

"I have nothing to say about it one way or the other," said Hampstead. "I say nothing about it, at any rate now."

"What do you mean by that, John?"

"When I saw how miserable you were at Trafford I did my best to bring you away. But I could only bring you here on an express stipulation that you should not meet George Roden while you were in my house. If you can get my father\'s consent to your meeting him, then that part of the contract will be over."

"I don\'t think I made any promise."

"I understand it so."

"I said nothing to papa on the subject,—and I do not remember that I made any promise to you. I am sure I did not."

"I promised for you." To this she was silent. "Are you going to ask him to come here?"

"Certainly not. But if he did come, how could I refuse to see him? I thought that he was here on Saturday, and I told Richard to admit him. I could not send him away from the door."

"I do not think he will come unless he is asked," said Hampstead. Then the conversation was over.

On the following day, at two o\'clock, Lord Hampstead again started for Holloway. On this occasion he drove over, and left his trap and servant at the "Duchess of Edinburgh." He was so well known in the neighbourhood now as hardly to be able to hope to enter on the domains of Paradise Row without being recognized. He felt that it was hard that his motions should be watched, telling himself that it was one of the evils belonging to an hereditary nobility; but he must accept this mischief as he did others, and he walked up the street trying to look as though he didn\'t know that his motions were being watched first from Number Fifteen as he passed it, and then from Number Ten opposite, as he stood at Mrs. Roden\'s door.

Mrs. Roden was at home, and received him, of course, with her most gracious smile; but her heart sank within her as she saw him, for she felt sure that he had come in pursuit of Marion Fay. "It is very kind of you to call," she said. "I had heard from George that you had gone down into the country since we had the pleasure of dining with you."

"Yes; my father has been unwell, and I had to stay with him a few days or I should have been here sooner. You got home all of you quite well?"

"Oh, yes."

"Miss Fay did not catch cold?"

"Not at all;—though I fear she is hardly strong."

"She is not ill, I hope?"

"Oh, no; not that. But she lives here very quietly, and I doubt whether the excitement of going out is good for her."

"There was not much excitement at Hendon Hall, I think," he said, laughing.

"Not for you, but for her perhaps. In appreciating our own condition we are so apt to forget what is the condition of others! To Marion Fay it was a strange event to have to dine at your house,—and strange also to receive little courtesies such as yours. It is hard for you to conceive how strongly the nature of such a girl may be effected by novelties. I have almost regretted, Lord Hampstead, that I should have consented to take her there."

"Has she said anything?"

"Oh, no; there was nothing for her to say. You are not to suppose that any harm has been done."

"What harm could have been done?" he asked. Of what nature was the harm of which Mrs. Roden was speaking? Could it be that Marion had made any sign of altered feelings; had declared in any way her liking or disliking; had given outward testimony of thoughts which would have been pleasant to him,—or perhaps unpleasant,—had he known them?

"No harm, of course," said Mrs. Roden;—"only to a nature such as hers all excitement is evil."

"I cannot believe that," he said, after a pause. "Now and then in the lives of all of us there must come moments of excitement which cannot be all evil. What would Marion say if I were to tell her that I loved her?"

"I hope you will not do that, my lord."

"Why should you hope so? What right have you to hope so? If I do love her, is it not proper that I should tell her?"

"But it would not be proper that you should love her."

"There, Mrs. Roden, I take the liberty of declaring that you are altogether in the wrong, and that you speak without due consideration."

"Do I, my lord?"

"I think so. Why am I not to be allowed the ordinary privilege of a man,—that of declaring my passion to a woman when I meet one who seems in all things to fulfil the image of perfection which I have formed for myself,—when I see a girl that I fancy I can love?"

"Ah, there is the worst! It is only a fancy."

"I will not be accused in that way without defending myself. Let it be fancy or what not, I love Marion Fay, and I have come here to tell her so. If I can make any impression on her I shall come again and tell her father so. I am here now because I think that you can help me. If you will not, I shall go on without your help."

"What can I do?"

"Go to her with me now, at once. You say that excitement is bad for her. The excitement will be less if you will come with me to her house."

Then there was a long pause in the conversation, during which Mrs. Roden was endeavouring to determine what might be her duty at this moment. She certainly did not think that it would be well that Lord Hampstead, the eldest son of the Marquis of Kingsbury, should marry Marion Fay. She was quite sure that she had all the world with her there. Were any one to know that she had assisted in arranging such a marriage, that any one would certainly condemn her. That would assuredly be the case, not only with the young lord\'s family, not only with others of the young lord\'s order, but with all the educated world of Great Britain. How could it be that such a one as Marion Fay should be a fitting wife for such a one as Lord Hampstead? Marion Fay had undoubtedly great gifts of her own. She was beautiful, intelligent, sweet-minded, and possessed of natural delicacy,—so much so that to Mrs. Roden herself she had become as dear almost as a daughter; but it was impossible that she should have either the education or the manners fit for the wife of a great English peer. Though her manners might be good and her education excellent, they were not those required for that special position. And then there was cause for other fears. Marion\'s mother and brothers and sisters had all died young. The girl herself had hitherto seemed to escape the scourge under which they perished. But occasionally there would rise to her cheeks a bright colour, which for the moment would cause Mrs. Roden\'s heart to sink within her. Occasionally there would be heard from her not a cough, but that little preparation for coughing which has become so painfully familiar to the ears of those whose fate it has been to see their beloved ones gradually fade from presumed health. She had already found herself constrained to say a word or two to the old Quaker, not telling ............