Treble dots were under the word 'to-morrow.' He had scored the margin of the sentences containing his dotted words, as if in admiration of their peculiar wisdom. She thought it piteous that he should be reduced to such means of communication. The next instant Cecilia was shrinking from the adept intriguer--French-taught! In the course of the evening her cousin remarked: 'Captain Beauchamp must see merit in things undiscoverable by my poor faculties. I will show you a book he has marked.' 'Did you see it? I was curious to examine it,' interposed Cecilia; 'and I am as much at a loss as you to understand what could have attracted him. One sentence . . .' 'About the sheikh in the stables, where he accused the pretended physician? Yes, what was there in that?' 'Where is the book?' said Mrs. Grancey. 'Not here, I think.' Cecilia glanced at the drawing-room book-table, and then at Mr. Austin, the victim of an unhappy love in his youth, and unhappy about her, as her father had said. Seymour Austin was not one to spread the contagion of intrigue! She felt herself caught by it, even melting to feel enamoured of herself in consequence, though not loving Beauchamp the more. 'This newspaper, if it's not merely an airy project, will be ruination,' said Tuckham. 'The fact is, Beauchamp has no bend in him. He can't meet a man without trying a wrestle, and as long as he keeps his stiffness, he believes he has won. I've heard an oculist say that the eye that doesn't blink ends in blindness, and he who won't bend breaks. It's a pity, for he's a fine fellow. A Radical daily Journal of Shrapnel's colour, to educate the people by giving them an interest in the country! Goodness, what a delusion! and what a waste of money! He'll not be able to carry it on a couple of years. And there goes his eighty thousand!' Cecilia's heart beat fast. She had no defined cause for its excitement. Colonel Halkett returned to Mount Laurels close upon midnight, very tired, coughing and complaining of the bitter blowing East. His guests shook hands with him, and went to bed. 'I think I'll follow their example,' he said to Cecilia, after drinking a tumbler of mulled wine. 'Have you nothing to tell me, dear papa?' said she, caressing him timidly. 'A confirmation of the whole story from Lord Romfrey in person--that's all. He says Beauchamp's mad. I begin to believe it. You must use your judgement. I suppose I must not expect you to consider me. You might open your heart to Austin. As to my consent, knowing what I do, you will have to tear it out of me. Here's a country perfectly contented, and that fellow at work digging up grievances to persuade the people they're oppressed by us. Why should I talk of it? He can't do much harm; unless he has money--money! Romfrey says he means to start a furious paper. He'll make a bonfire of himself. I can't stand by and see you in it too. I may die; I may be spared the sight.'