He was sitting with Lady Markham in the room which was her special sanctuary. She did not call it her boudoir--she was not at all inclined to _bouder_; but it answered to that retirement in common parlance. Those who wanted to see her alone, to confide in her, as many people did, knocked at the door of this room. It opened with a large window upon the lawn, and looked down through a carefully kept opening upon the sea. Amid all the little luxuries appropriate to my lady’s chamber, you could see the biggest ships in the world pass across the gleaming foreground, shut in between two _massifs_ of laurel, making a delightful confusion of the great and the small, which was specially pleasant to her. She sat, however, with her back to this pleasant prospect, holding up a screen, to shade her delicate cheek from the bright little fire, which, though April was far advanced, was still thought necessary so near the sea. Claude had thrown himself into another chair in front of the fireplace. No warmth was ever too much for him. There was the usual pathos in his tone, but a faint consciousness of something amusing was in his face. “Did she?” said Lady Markham with a laugh. “The little impertinent! But you know, my dear boy, that is what I have always said.” “Yes--it is quite true. You healthy people, you are always of opinion that one can get over it if one makes the effort; and there is no way of proving the contrary but by dying, which is a strong step.” “A very strong step--one, I hope, that you will not think of taking. They are both very sincere, my girls, though in a different way. They mean what they say; and yet they do not mean it, Claude. That is, it is quite true; but does not affect their regard for you, which, I am sure, without implying any deeper feeling, is strong.” He shook his head a little. “Dear Lady Markham,” he said, “you know if I am to marry, I want, above all things, to marry a daughter of yours.” “Dear boy!” she said, with a look full of tender meaning. “You have always been so good to me, since ever I can remember. But what am I to do if they--object? Constance--has run away from me, people say: run away--to escape _me_!” His voice took so tragically complaining a tone, that Lady Markham bit her lip and held her screen higher to conceal her smile. Next moment, however, she turned upon him with a perfectly grave and troubled face. “Dear Claude!” she cried, “what an injustice to poor Con. I thought I had explained all that to you. You have known all along the painful position I am in with their father, and you know how impulsive she is. And then, Markham---- Alas!” she continued with a sigh, “my position is very complicated, Claude. Markham is the best son that ever was; but you know I have to pay a great deal for it.” “Ah!” said Claude; “Nelly Winterbourn and all that,” with a good many sage nods of his head.