But he soon found out that, so far as the world was concerned, he had done an excellent thing for himself. Congratulations poured in on all sides; people laughed at the rumors they had been so ready to believe. After all, it was very improbable that a man like Sir Ronald should have been the dupe of any woman. It was Miss Severn he had cared for; and, now they were going to be married, Sir Ronald had urged a speedy marriage. He began at once to make preparation; he ordered a magnificent suite of rooms to be prepared for his wife. Perhaps it was significant of his frame of mind that he never went once to see what progress was made, contenting himself by giving orders that neither expense nor trouble should be spared. He sent all the family jewels to London to be reset, but he did not linger over them with a lover’s fondness, choosing what would best suit her. He ordered the most lavish and magnificent presents, but he never heeded the beautiful, blushing smile with which they were received. He never omitted any day going over to Mount Severn. He drilled himself, he trained his thoughts, and would not let them wander from her. When the memory of Lady Hermione and that evening among the flowers came to him he crushed it back remorselessly. Yet no one looking at him could have called him a happy man. There were grave lines on his brow and round his lips that told of the long, bitter struggle; his laugh had no music in it, his smile no light. The ring of youth and happiness had died out of his voice. Even when he tried to be most happy, the heart within him was cold and heavy as lead. One day, as he was riding home from Mount Severn, he met Kenelm Eyrle. They had not spoken for some time, but on this evening Kenelm walked up to him. “One moment, Sir Ronald Alden,” he said. “I will not detain you; answer me this one question.” “I will answer a hundred,” replied Sir Ronald, “if you will ask them as a friend, and not as an enemy.” “There will be no more friendship between us,” was the calm reply. “Have you honor and honesty enough to tell me whether it is true that you are going to marry Miss Severn?” “Although it can be no business of yours, I do not mind telling you that in a few weeks from now Miss Severn will be my wife.” “You have wooed her and won her--you confess it,” cried Kenelm, fiercely. “There is nothing to confess. I asked the lady to be my wife, and she consented _viola tout_.” “I shall never waste another word upon you,” said Mr. Eyrle, indignantly, as he turned away; and Sir Ronald laughed. “My lady has bidden him speak thus,” he thought. “Perhaps she wished to see if I was marrying from pique or love. Ah, Clarice, no one shall ever discover that.” Kenelm Eyrle walked angrily to Mount Severn. “I will hear it from her own lips,” he said; “I refuse to believe it from his.”