“Pray allow Miss Wylie to speak for herself, Jane. I confess I do not understand why you are still in doubt--if you have really engaged yourself to him.” “I suppose I am in for it,” said Agatha. “I feel as if there were some fatal objection, if I could only remember what it is. I wish I had never seen him.” Sir Charles was puzzled. “I do not understand ladies’ ways in these matters,” he said. “However, as there seems to be no doubt that you and Trefusis are engaged, I shall of course say nothing that would make it unpleasant for him to visit here; but I must say that he has--to say the least--been inconsiderate to me personally. I signed a paper at his house on the implicit understanding that it was strictly private, and now he has trumpeted it forth to the whole world, and publicly associated my name not only with his own, but with those of persons of whom I know nothing except that I would rather not be connected with them in any way.” “What does it matter?” said Jane. “Nobody cares twopence.” “_I_ care,” said Sir Charles angrily. “No sensible person can accuse me of exaggerating my own importance because I value my reputation sufficiently to object to my approval being publicly cited in support of a cause with which I have no sympathy.” “Perhaps Mr. Trefusis has had nothing to do with it,” said Agatha. “The papers publish whatever they please, don’t they?” “That’s right, Agatha,” said Jane maliciously. “Don’t let anyone speak ill of him.” “I am not speaking ill of him,” said Sir Charles, before Agatha could retort. “It is a mere matter of feeling, and I should not have mentioned it had I known the altered relations between him and Miss Wylie.” “Pray don’t speak of them,” said Agatha. “I have a mind to run away by the next train.” Sir Charles, to change the subject, suggested a duet. Meanwhile Erskine, returning through the village from his morning ride, had met Trefusis, and attempted to pass him with a nod. But Trefusis called to him to stop, and he dismounted reluctantly. “Just a word to say that I am going to be married,” said Trefusis. “To--?” Erskine could not add Gertrude’s name. “To one of our friends at the Beeches. Guess to which.” “To Miss Lindsay, I presume.” “What in the fiend’s name has put it into all your heads that Miss Lindsay and I are particularly attached to one another?” exclaimed Trefusis. “YOU have always appeared to me to be the man for Miss Lindsay. I am going to marry Miss Wylie.” “Really!” exclaimed Erskine, with a sensation of suddenly thawing after a bitter frost. “Of course. And now, Erskine, you have the advantage of being a poor man. Do not let that splendid girl marry for money. If you go further you are likely to fare worse; and so is she.” Then he nodded and walked away, leaving the other staring after him. “If he has jilted her, he is a scoundrel,” said Erskine. “I am sorry I didn’t tell him so.”