THE house in Lowndes Square was hardly a pleasant abode about this time. Captain Bradshaw was irritable beyond measure. The servants led a dreadful life with him, and even Alice Heathcote had to take refuge in her own room, for Alice herself was scarcely able to withstand the excessive fractiousness and ill-temper of her uncle. She was looking very ill, and was really unhappy. Alice had truly ceased to love Frank Maynard. From the day when she had heard from his own lips that he did not love her she had striven hard against her own feelings, but it was not until she knew that he was engaged to another that she was able to quite win a victory over herself. She had been mercilessly severe with herself. She had pictured Frank as sharing his home and his love with another, and had insisted upon rejoicing over his happiness; she had herself frequently brought the subject round in her conversation with Frank. And so it was, that by joining in her cousin's talk as to his future plans, and by entering into his happy anticipations, Alice gradually conquered herself and came to feel that she could look upon Frank quite as a brother, and rejoice in seeing him happy with another. As she thus gradually conquered her love she became more as she was before the first destruction of her hopes; she grew calm and self-possessed again, her step regained its elasticity, and her eye its steady light. When Frank had come to say good-bye before going down to his wedding, she almost regretted that she had refused his earnest request to be one of the bridesmaids, for she felt that she could now have seen him married with hardly a pang. But this new trial had once again broken her down. She could not bear to think that Frank, who had been her idol, whom she had looked up to as a model of all that was good and honest and honourable, could have done this thing. She did not think it. She clung to the belief that he would clear it all up on his return; at any rate, only from Frank's own lips, or from Frank's own handwriting, would she believe it, and she counted the days to his return, when he would get her uncle's letter, and would, she was sure, repel the accusation. Captain Bradshaw, too, was longing for Frank's return. Not that he doubted the facts. These, to his mind, were clearly established; but he hoped that Frank might be able to offer some sort of palliation or excuse; might somehow put his conduct in a more favourable light; might plead guilty to imprudence, but deny evil intention even when confessing the fault; might, in fact, in some way or other, enable him to forgive him, and after a due amount of scolding and lecturing, to restore him to at least a portion of his old share of his affection.