To uninterested speculators Lord Airlie was a handsome, kindly, honorable young man. Intellectual, somewhat fastidious, lavishly generous, a great patron of fine arts; to Beatrice Earle he was the ideal of all that was noble and to be admired. He was a prince among men. The proud heart was conquered. She loved him and said to herself that she would rather love him as a neglected wife than be the worshiped wife of any other man. She had many admirers; "the beautiful Miss Earle" was the belle of the season. Had she been inclined to coquetry or flirtation she would not have been so eagerly sought after. The gentlemen were quite as much charmed by her utter indifference and haughty acceptance of their homage as by her marvelous beauty. At times Beatrice felt sure that Lord Airlie loved her; then a sudden fit of timidity would seize her young lover, and again she would doubt it. One thing she never doubted--her own love for him. If her dreams were all false, and he never asked her to be his wife, she said to herself that she would never be the wife of any other man. The remembrance of Hugh Fernely crossed her mind at times--not very often, and never with any great fear or apprehension. It seemed to her more like a dark, disagreeable dream than a reality. Could it be possible that she, Beatrice Earle, the daughter of that proud, noble father, so sternly truthful, so honorable, could ever have been so mad or so foolish? The very remembrance of it made the beautiful face flush crimson. She could not endure the thought, and always drove it hastily from her. The fifteenth of July was drawing near; the two years had nearly passed, yet she was not afraid. He might never return, he might forget her, although, remembering his looks and words, that, she feared, could not be. If he went to Seabay--if he went to the Elms, it was not probable that he would ever discover her whereabouts, or follow her to claim the fulfillment of her absurd promise. At the very worst, if he discovered that she was Lord Earle's daughter, she believed that her rank and position would dazzle and frighten him. Rarely as those thoughts came to her, and speedily as she thrust them from her, she considered them a dear price for the little novelty and excitement that had broken the dead level calm of life at the Elms. Lord Airlie, debating within himself whether he should risk, during the whirl and turmoil of the London season, the question upon which the happiness of his life depended, decided that he would wait until Lord Earle returned to Earlescourt, and follow him there.