This plan once conceived, she adhered to it with pertinacity and skill. She rode and walked with them, and in public put herself rather forward, and asserted the leader; but sooner or later, at a proper time and place, she lagged behind, or cantered ahead, and manipulated the wooing with tact and dexterity. The consequence was that Zoe wrote of her own accord to Mrs. Dover, asking leave to detain Fanny, because her brother had invited a college friend, and it was rather awkward for her without Fanny, there being no other lady in the house at present. She showed this to Fanny, who said, earnestly, “As long as ever you like, dear. Mamma will not miss me a bit. Make your mind easy.” Vizard, knowing his sister, and entirely deceived in Severne, exercised no vigilance; for, to do Zoe justice, none was necessary, if Severne had been the man he seemed. There was no mother in the house to tremble for her daughter, to be jealous, to watch, to question, to demand a clear explanation--in short, to guard her young as only the mothers of creation do. The Elysian days rolled on. Zoe was in heaven, and Severne in a fool's paradise, enjoying everything, hoping everything, forgetting everything, and fearing nothing. He had come to this, with all his cunning; he was intoxicated and blinded with passion. Now it was that the idea of marrying Zoe first entered his head. But he was not mad enough for that. He repelled it with terror, rage, and despair. He passed an hour or two of agony in his own room, and came down, looking pale and exhausted. But, indeed, the little Dumas, though he does not pass for a moralist, says truly and well, “Les amours ille'gitimes portent toujours des fruits amers;” and Ned Severne's turn was come to suffer a few of the pangs he had inflicted gayly on more than one woman and her lover. One morning at breakfast Vizard made two announcements. “Here's news,” said he; “Dr. Gale writes to postpone her visit. She is ill, poor girl!” “Oh, dear! what is the matter?” inquired Zoe, always kind-hearted. “Gastritis--so she says.” “What is that?” inquired Fanny. Mr. Severne, who was much pleased at this opportune illness, could not restrain his humor, and said it was a disorder produced by the fumes of gas. Zoe, accustomed to believe this gentleman's lies, and not giving herself time to think, said there was a great escape in the passage the night she went there. Then there was a laugh at her simplicity. She joined in it, but shook her finger at Master Severne.