“Not at all, my dear. I don’t know where he could get so nice a partner.” And then she paused a moment, not feeling how far she might go. In the meantime Griselda sat still, staring at the hot coals. “Indeed, I know that he admires you very much,” continued Lady Lufton. “Oh! no, I am sure he doesn’t,” said Griselda; and then there was another pause. “I can only say this,” said Lady Lufton, “that if he does do so—and I believe he does—it would give me very great pleasure. For you know, my dear, that I am very fond of you myself.” “Oh! thank you,” said Griselda, and stared at the coals more perseveringly than before. “He is a young man of a most excellent disposition—though he is my own son, I will say that—and if there should be anything between you and him—” “There isn’t, indeed, Lady Lufton.” “But if there ever should be, I should be delighted to think that Ludovic had made so good a choice.” “But there will never be anything of the sort, I’m sure, Lady Lufton. He is not thinking of such a thing in the least.” “Well, perhaps he may, some day. And now, good-night, my dear.” “Good-night, Lady Lufton.” And Griselda kissed her with the utmost composure, and betook herself to her own bedroom. Before she retired to sleep she looked carefully to her different articles of dress, discovering what amount of damage the evening’s wear and tear might have inflicted. CHAPTER XXI. WHY PUCK, THE PONY, WAS BEATEN. Mark Robarts returned home the day after the scene at the Albany, considerably relieved in spirit. He now felt that he might accept the stall without discredit to himself as a clergyman in doing so. Indeed, after what Mr. Sowerby had said, and after Lord Lufton’s assent to it, it would have been madness, he considered, to decline it. And then, too, Mr. Sowerby’s promise about the bills was very comfortable to him. After all, might it not be possible that he might get rid of all these troubles with no other drawback than that of having to pay £130 for a horse that was well worth the money?