"Perhaps," said Mrs. Merton, "you will meet Lord Vargrave at dinner to-morrow; he will stay with us a few days,--as long as he can be spared." Maltravers meet Lord Vargrave! the happy Vargrave, the betrothed to Evelyn! Maltravers witness the familiar rights, the enchanting privileges, accorded to another! and that other one whom he could not believe worthy of Evelyn! He writhed at the picture the invitation conjured up. "You are very kind, my dear Mrs. Merton, but I expect a visitor at Burleigh,--an old and dear friend, Mr. Cleveland." "Mr. Cleveland!--we shall be delighted to see him too. We knew him many years ago, during your minority, when he used to visit Burleigh two or three times a year." "He is changed since then; he is often an invalid. I fear I cannot answer for him; but he will call as soon as he arrives, and apologize for himself." Maltravers then hastily took his departure. He would not trust himself to do more than bow distantly to Evelyn; she looked at him reproachfully. So, then, it was really premeditated and resolved upon--his absence from the rectory; and why? She was grieved, she was offended--but more grieved than offended,--perhaps because esteem, interest, admiration, are more tolerant and charitable than love. CHAPTER VIII. _Arethusa_. 'Tis well, my lord, your courting of ladies. . . . . . . _Claremont_. Sure this lady has a good turn done her against her will. PHILASTER. In the breakfast-room at Knaresdean, the same day, and almost at the same hour, in which occurred the scene and conversation at the rectory recorded in our last chapter, sat Lord Vargrave and Caroline alone. The party had dispersed, as was usual, at noon. They heard at a distance the sounds of the billiard-balls. Lord Doltimore was playing with Colonel Legard, one of the best players in Europe, but who, fortunately for Doltimore, had of late made it a rule never to play for money. Mrs. and the Misses Cipher, and most of the guests, were in the billiard-room looking on. Lady Raby was writing letters, and Lord Raby riding over his home farm. Caroline and Lumley had been for some time in close and earnest conversation. Miss Merton was seated in a large armchair, much moved, with her handkerchief to her eyes. Lord Vargrave, with his back to the chimney-piece, was bending down and speaking in a very low voice, while his quick eye glanced, ever and anon, from the lady's countenance to the windows, to the doors, to be prepared against any interruption. "No, my dear friend," said he, "believe me that I am sincere. My feelings for you are, indeed, such as no words can paint." "Then why--"