After this Bulstrode stopped, and presently slouched off to bed. He was surprised that Skelton had forgiven him so easily, or rather had been so indifferent to his offense, but Skelton had a good many reasons for not falling out with him then and there. After that things went on very quietly for a time. Skelton did not even mention the subject that he had talked to Lewis about the morning after the ball, and Lewis went about, serious and sad, with a weight upon his heart. The likeness between the two came out stronger every day. Just as Lewis suddenly seemed to become a man and his face lost its boyish character, so Skelton’s face grew younger and gentler by reason of the upspringing of a host of strange feelings. It seems as if the opening of his heart to Lewis had made a new man of him. He sometimes thought to himself: “What wonderful vitality have these old emotions, after all! It seems impossible either to starve them or strangle them.” Sylvia Shapleigh appeared to him more and more captivating, and he realised after a while that he was as much in love with her as he could be with any woman. But a great many things would have to be settled before he could speak to Sylvia. He reflected that no man could guarantee to himself one single day of life, and, on the whole, it was better to have matters arranged in his lifetime. Then it occurred to him for the first time that if he could satisfy the Blairs that Lewis put an embargo upon their suppositious claims, there would be no occasion for making it public. Of course, it would have to be known to a certain number of persons, but they were chiefly legal people in England, and England was in those days almost as far off as another planet. And it must come out at his death, but that might be many years off, and Lewis might have married into a good family, and the gossip might have become an old story, and everything much better than springing it suddenly on the community then. Skelton went quietly to work, though, and accumulated the proofs of Lewis’s parentage, and found them much more conclusive than Bulstrode had thought them to be. He was meanwhile gradually making up his mind to ask Sylvia Shapleigh to marry him. Of course he must tell her all about Lewis, but he thought it likely that she knew as much as he could tell her, and if she really cared for him she would be good to the boy for his sake--to say nothing of Lewis’s sake, for he was undoubtedly lovable. It was very unfortunate; he did not know of any man who had a complication so painful; but still there were ways out of it. One thing was certain: no one would ever trouble him with remarks on the subject, or Sylvia either, if they should be married. People might think as they pleased, but he and Sylvia and Lewis could afford to ignore gossip and idle tittle-tattle. Lewis, although obviously depressed, took a suddenly industrious turn about his lessons. He began to study so hard, that Bulstrode was amazed and delighted.