And at any rate he was still her lover, as fully, as ardently as ever. Deep in those fastnesses of his nature were his love for her, and his pride in her and in having her for his own. The two things grew side by side, their roots intertangled. Every glance of admiration she won, every murmur of approval she created, gave him joy and seemed to give him tribute. He eagerly gathered in the envy of the world as food for his own exultation; he laughed in pleasure when Christine Fanshaw told him to look and see how Walter Blake adored Sibylla. "Of course he does--he's a sensible young fellow," said Grantley gaily. "So am I, Christine, and I adore her too." "The captive of your bow and spear!" Christine sneered. "Of my personal attractions, please! Don't say of my money-bags!" "She's like a very laudatory testimonial?" "I just wonder how John Fanshaw endures you." He answered her with jests, never thinking to deny what she said. He did delight in his wife's triumphs. Was there anything unamiable in that? If close union were the thing, was not that close? Her triumphs made his--what could be closer than that? At this time any criticism on him was genuinely unintelligible; he could make nothing of it, and reckoned it as of no account. And Sibylla herself, as he had said, he could always soothe. "And she's going on quite all right?" Christine continued. "Splendidly! We've got her quietly fixed down at Milldean, with her favourite old woman to look after her. There she'll stay. I run up to town two or three times a week--do my business----" "Call on me?" "I ventured so far--and get back as soon as I can." "You must be very pleased?" "Of course I'm pleased," he laughed, "very pleased indeed, Christine." He was very much pleased, and laughed at himself, as he had laughed at others, for being a little proud too. He had wanted the dynasty carried on. There was every prospect of a start being made in that direction very prosperously. He would have hated to have it otherwise; there would have been a sense of incompleteness then. "I needn't tell a wise woman like you that there's some trouble about such things," he went on. "No doubt there is," smiled Christine. "But you can leave most of that to Sibylla and the favourite old woman," she added a moment later, with her eyes on Grantley's contented face, and that touch of acidity in her clear-toned voice.