Robert Spencer was not only, as his mother put it, a handsome young fellow; he had more than good looks, he had that air of distinction which goes with character. No one with even a slight knowledge of physiognomy could see him once without perceiving that he was physically, mentally, and probably morally, a strong man, and, what was almost as much, a likable man. As he stood framed in the open window, with the glory of that almost uncannily glorious April sun lighting up the frame, each of those who saw him was conscious of an impulse which, had it been yielded to, would have resulted in a scene of tenderness. He was dear to his parents, and he knew it; they themselves scarcely knew how dear, and that also he suspected. He was dear, with a different sort of dearness, to the girl who moved towards him, as if impelled by a power against which she was helpless; only to start back, shrinking timidly, with frightened, longing eyes, and cheeks on which the crimson faded to pallor. Yet, though he was dear to all of them, there was not one of the three who would not rather he had not appeared upon the scene just then. His mother, with characteristic courage, gave expression to her feeling on the spot.  
"Robert! my boy! we don't want you. Where have you come from? and what are you doing here?"
 
He smiled, and his was such a pleasant smile it did one good to see it.
 
"Why, mother, I'm sorry to hear that you don't want me. I've rushed from the station to tell Nora, what I've not a doubt she knows already, that I hope she'll find in me some one who'll take the place, at least in part, of him whom she has lost."
 
When he advanced into the room his mother placed herself in his path.
 
"Robert, my dear boy, you ought not to be here. Go back to Holtye, and when I return I will explain to your perfect satisfaction why I say it."
 
"Ought not to be here!--where Nora is! My dear mother! Nora, why do--why don't--Nora, what's the matter?"
 
He made a sudden forward movement, but once more his mother was too quick for him; again she interposed; if he did not wish to knock her over he had to stand still.
 
"Robert, I must beg you to do as I desire, and return at once to Holtye."
 
"My dear mother, I must beg you to stand aside, and let me speak to Nora."
 
The old woman turned to the girl.
 
"Miss Lindsay, you perceive how my son treats me; have you nothing which you wish to say?"
 
"Of course," replied the son in question, "Nora has something which she wishes to say--I'm sure I don't know why you call her Miss Lindsay; she's not likely to say it when addressed like that. I'll make a suggestion, mother; you go back to Holtye, with the dad, and I'll talk to Nora when you're gone, and I'll tell you some of the things she says to me when I return to Holtye."
 
The old lady stuck to her guns.
 
"Miss Lindsay, is there nothing that you wish to say?"
 
"Yes, Mr. Spencer, there is something which I wish to say--your mother is right; you ought not to be here." With a great effort she had brought herself to the sticking-point. She was one of those women who have in them an infinite capacity for suffering, yet who remain unbeaten though they suffer. If she once saw what she believed to be her duty straight in front of her, though her flesh might quail, her soul would not falter; she would do her duty as certainly as any of that great host who have died for duty, smiling as they died. The Countess had not put things pleasantly, but it seemed to Nora that she had put them correctly; she ought not to marry the man she loved, for his own sake; and because she loved him with something of that love which passes understanding, she would not marry him--to his own hurt. She proceeded to make this as clear to him as she could. "There has been a misunderstanding between us from the first; I don't know that the fault has been altogether mine, but there has been. It is necessary that we should understand each other now. When I consented to become your wife it was under a misapprehension; I did not know it then; I know it now. Now that I do know it, it is quite clear to me that it is impossible that I should be your wife, and I never will be. Therefore, since what your mother says is obviously correct, and you ought not to be here, I would join with her in asking you to go."
 
Robert Spencer stared as if he found it difficult to credit that this formal, cold, somewhat pedantic young woman was the girl whom he had found all love and tenderness; indeed he refused to credit it.
 
"Nora, you're--not well."
 
He said this with such a comical twist, and such a sunny smile, that she all but succumbed, she loved him for it so; she was all of a quiver, her heart seemed melting. It was possibly because she perceived the girl's sad plight that the sharp-eyed old woman took another hand in the game.
 
"Robert, is it necessary that Miss Lindsay and I should retire? I should not have thought that you would have required two women to ask you to go, before you went. I repeat that you shall have all explanations--from Miss Lindsay and from me--when I see you at Holtye."
 
But Robert still smiled, and he shook the handsome, clever head, which the Countess ought to have known was too clever to be hoodwinked quite so easily.
 
"It won't do, mother; I'm sorry to seem to run counter to your wishes; but it's clear to my mind that it is I who am entitled to ask you to leave me alone with Nora; it pains me to observe your seeming reluctance to do what you know you ought to do. Dad, you'll understand; won't you take my mother away?"
 
The Earl, thus appealed to, cleared his throat, and then observed--
 
"Robert, you're a fool; leave this business to your mother; you come and talk to me."
 
He moved towards the window, as though inviting his son to accompany him into the grounds, and to have that talk out there and then; but Robert stood still.
 
"Thank you, dad; it's very good of you, and I'll have all the talk with you you can possibly desire--after I have had a talk with Nora."
 
All at once the girl solved the question in her own fashion; she spoke tremulously, yet in haste.
 
"I--I think that if Mr. Spencer won't go, then--then it is better that I should."
 
And she did go, towards the door, and through it like a flash, before the person principally concerned had a chance to stop her.
 
"Nora!" he cried, the instant she had gone, and he went rushing towards the door through which she had vanished; but again his mother, showing an agility which, in a person of her years, was remarkable, stood in his way.
 
"Robert, I insist upon your conducting yourself like a gentleman! If you will not show me the respect which is due to your mother, you at least shall not behave in a stranger's house in a way which is unbecoming to my son."
 
He looked at the old woman, who had planted herself in front of him, upright and stiff as a post, and he drew back; this time his smile was grave.
 
"Mother, I trust that you are not forgetting that there is a respect which a mother owes to her son. Why do you object to my having any conversation with my affianced wife?"
 
"Don't you know that her father is dead?"
 
"Certainly I know it; just dead, and just buried; it is on that account that I feel so strongly that my place is with her."
 
"Don't talk nonsense!"
 
"Mother, when you were alone in the world, didn't you feel that my father's place was with you?"
 
"Robert, your brothers have behaved like fools, but I hope you won't; you are all the hope I have left; it will break my heart if you do. This girl's father has turned out to be an impostor!"
 
"An impostor? Mother, in saying what you have to say to me will you please remember you are speaking of the woman who is to be my wife, and your daughter, and so choos............