A dinner-party at Dallory Hall. Arthur Bohun was in his chamber, lazily dressing for it. Not a large party, this: half-a-dozen people or so, besides themselves; and the hour six o\'clock. Two gentlemen, bidden to it, would have to leave by train afterwards: on such occasions dinner of necessity must be early.

Mr. North and Richard did not approve of madam\'s dinners at the most favourable times: now, with all the care of the strike upon them and the trouble looming in the distance if that strike lasted: the breaking up of their business, the failure of their means: they looked on these oft-recurring banquets as especially reprehensible. They were without power to stop them; remonstrance availed not with madam. Sometimes the dinners were impromptu, or nearly so, madam inviting afternoon callers at the Hall to stay, or bringing home a carriage-full of guests with her. As was partly the case on this day.

Captain Arthur Bohun, who liked to take most things easily, dressing included, stood hair-brush in hand. He had moved away from the glass, and was looking from the open window. His thoughts were busy. They ran on that little episode of the morning, when madam, passing in her carriage, had seen him with Ellen Adair, and had chosen to display her sentiments on the subject in the manner described. That it would not end there, Arthur felt sure; madam would inevitably treat him to a little more of her mind. It was rather a singular thing--as if Fate had been intervening with its usual cross purposes--for circumstances so to have ordered it that madam should still be in ignorance of their intimacy. Almost always when Mrs. Cumberland was at home, it chanced that madam was away; and, when madam was at the Hall, Mrs. Cumberland was elsewhere. Thus, during Mrs. Cumberland\'s prolonged stay at Niton, madam\'s presence blessed her household; the very week that that lady returned to Dallory Ham, madam took her departure, and had only recently returned. She had spent the interval in Germany. Sidney North, her well-beloved son, giving trouble as usual to all who were connected with him, had found England rather warm for him in early spring, and had betaken himself to Germany. His chief point of sojourn was Homburg, and madam, with her daughter Matilda, had been making it hers since the spring. Mr. North, in the relief her absence brought him, had used every exertion to supply her with the money she so rapaciously sent home for. It would appear that the accommodation had not been sufficient, for--as was soon to be discovered by Richard--the cheques shown to him by his father had been drawn by her at Homburg. And so, as Fate or Fortune had willed it, Mrs. North had been out of the way of watching the progress of the intimacy between her son and Ellen Adair.

A quick knock at the chamber-door, and madam swept in, a large crimson rose, just brought from the greenhouse, adorning her jet-black hair, her white silk gown rustling and trailing after her. As well as though she had already spoken, Arthur knew what she had come for. He thought that she was losing no time and must have hurried over her toilette purposely. The carriage had not long returned home, for she and Matilda had been to a distance, and remained out to luncheon. Arthur, not moving from where he was, began brushing his hair haphazard.

"I suppose I am late, madam?"

"Was it you that I passed this afternoon in Dallory Ham, talking to some girl?" began madam, taking no notice of his remark.

"It was me, safe enough; I had been calling on Mrs. Cumberland," replied Arthur, carelessly. "Dick also. By the way you stared, madam, I fancied you scarcely knew me."

A little banter. Madam might take it seriously, or not, as she chose. She went round to the other side of the dressing-table, and stood opposite him at the window.

"What girl were you talking to?"

"Girl! I was with Miss Adair."

"Who is she, Arthur?"

"She is Mrs. Cumberland\'s ward."

"What do you know of her?"

"I know her as being at Mrs. Cumberland\'s. I see her when I go there."

Was he really indifferent? Standing there brushing away at his hair lazily, his apparently supreme indifference could not be exceeded. Madam scanned his face in momentary silence; he was closely intent upon two sparrows, fighting over a reddening cherry on the branch of a tree.

"Fight away, young gentlemen; battle it out; you\'ll have all the better appetite for supper."

"Will you attend to me for a short time, Captain Bohun?" spoke madam, irritably.

"Certainly; I am attending," was the captain\'s ready answer.

Just for an instant madam paused. This was not one of the daily petty grievances that she made people miserable over, but a trouble to her of awful meaning, almost as of life or death. In this, her own grave interests, she could control her temper, and she thought it might be the better policy to do so whilst she dealt with it.

"Arthur, you know that you are becoming more valuable to me," she said, with calmness; and Arthur Bohun opened his surprised ears at the words and tone. "Since Sidney took up his abode away from England, and cannot come back to it, poor fellow, for the present you are all I have here. If I speak, it is for your welfare."

"Very good of you, I am sure," returned Arthur, seeing she waited for him to say something, and feeling how two-faced the words were, mother of his though she was. "What is it you wish to say?"

"It\'s about that girl, Miss--what do you call her?--Adair. Young men will be young men; soldiers especially; I know that; but wrong is wrong, and it cannot by the most ingenious sophistry be converted into right. It is quite wrong to play with these village girls, as you seem to be doing with Miss Adair."

Arthur threw back his head as though his pride were hurt. Madam had seen just the same movement in his father.

"I have no intention of playing with Miss Adair."

A gleam shot from her eyes--half fear, half defiance. She bit her lip, and went on in a still softer tone.

"You cannot mean anything worse, Arthur."

"I do not understand you, madam. Worse? Worse than what?"

"Anything serious. To play with village girls is reprehensible; but----"

"I beg your pardon, mother; this is quite unnecessary. The playing with village girls--whatever that may mean--is not a habit of mine, and never has been. The caution might be more appropriate if applied to your men-servants than it is to me."

"Allow me to finish, Arthur. To play with village girls is reprehensible; but to intend anything serious with one would be far more so in your case. Will you profit by the caution?"

"If you wish me to comprehend the word \'serious,\' you must speak out. What does it mean?"

"It means marriage," she answered, with an outburst of temper--as far as tone might convey it. "I allude to this absurd intimacy of yours with Miss Adair. You must be intimate with the girl; your look and attitude, as I passed to-day, proved it."

"And if I did mean marriage, what then?"

He asked the question jokingly, laughing a little; but he was not prepared for the effect it had on his mother. Her eyes flashed fire, her lips trembled, her face turned white as death.

"Marriage! With her? You must be dreaming, Arthur Bohun."

"Not dreaming; joking," he said, lightly. "You may be at ease, madam; I have no intention of marrying any one at present."

"You must never marry Miss Adair."

"No?"

"Arthur Bohun, you are treating all this with mockery," she exclaimed, beginning to believe that he really was so; and the relief was great, though the tacit disrespect angered her. "How dare you imply that you could think seriously of these village girls?--only to annoy and frighten me."

"You must be easily frightened to-day, madam. I don\'t think I did imply it. As to Miss Adair----"

"Yes, as to Miss Adair," fiercely interrupted madam. "Go on."

"I was about to say that, in speaking of Miss Adair, we might as well recognize her true position. It is not quite respectful to be alluding to her as a \'village girl.\' She is a lady, born and bred."

"Perhaps you will next say that she is equal to the Bohuns?"

"I do not wish to say it. Don\'t you think this conversation may as well cease, madam?" added Arthur, after a short pause. "Why should it have been raised? One might suppose I had asked your consent to my marriage, whereas you know perfectly well that I am a poor man, with not the slightest chance of taking a wife."

"Poor men get engaged sometimes, Arthur, thinking they will wait--and wait. Seeing you with that girl--the world calls her good-looking, I believe--I grew into an awful fright for your sake. It would be most disastrous for you to marry beneath your rank--a Bohun never holds up his head afterwards, if he does that; and I thought I ought to speak a word of warning to you. You must take a suitable wife when you do marry--one fitted to mate with the future Sir Arthur Bohun."

"To mate with plain Arthur Bohun. To call me the future Sir Arthur is stretching possibility very wid............