D’Orville laid the rein on his favourite’s neck, and paced along at a slow, thoughtful walk, the white horse wondering, doubtless, at his master’s unusual fit of equestrian meditation. And what were the suitor’s feelings as he pondered over the news he had just received, the downfall of his golden castles in the air, the blow which would surely fall heavy on that bright, happy girl, whom he had been endeavouring to attach to himself day by day? Did he mourn over his withered hopes of wealth and ease? did he regret the melting of the vision, and pine for the domestic future, now impossible, which he had contemplated so often of late? or did he chivalrously resolve to give his hand to a penniless bride where he had been wooing a wealthy heiress, and to love her even more in her misfortunes than he had admired her in her prosperity? Alas! far from it. Some fifteen years ago, indeed, young Gaston D’Orville would have sacrificed his all to a woman, almost to any woman, and been well pleased to throw his heart into the bargain; but fifteen years of the world have more effect on the inner than the outward man, and the boy of five-and-twenty thinks that a glory and a romance which the man who is getting on for forty deems a folly and a bore. The Major was not prepared to give up _everything_, at least for _Blanche_, and his first sensations were those of relief, almost of satisfaction, as he thought he was again free--for of course this arrangement couldn’t go on; it would be madness to talk of it now: no, he would make his bow while it was yet time: how lucky he had never positively committed himself: nobody could say _he_ had behaved ill. Of course he would take proper measures to ascertain the truth of that rascal’s report; and if it had foundation, why, he was once again at liberty. He had his sword and his debts, but India was open to him, as it had been before, and a vision stole over him (the hardened man of the world could scarce repress a smile at his own folly)--a vision stole over him of military distinction, active service, a return to England--and Mary Delaval. So the Major drew his rein through his fingers, pressed his good horse’s sides, and cantered off, but did not, _that_ afternoon, pay his usual visit in Grosvenor Square. CHAPTER XVII CLUB LAW A VALID EXCUSE--AN ANONYMOUS LETTER--A RECIPE FOR ANNOYANCES--THE GENERAL ON THE PAVE--SECOND CHILDHOOD--RUNNING THE GAUNTLET--A SUIT OF CLUBS--SETTLED AT LAST--THE FRIEND IN NEED