He went to the Grange every day, and nearly every day he and Olivia rode or drove out together, accompanied by Aunt Amelia or one or sometimes both of the Penstone girls, and though Olivia was always cheerful and pleasant with him, it was a cold kind of cheerfulness, a forced sort of pleasantness. The paleness which Mary had remarked had not disappeared, and there had come into the dark eyes a far-away look, which might represent the quiet joy of an engaged girl, but was rather sad and unsatisfactory for the man who loved her. And he did love her, more deeply and intensely each day, with an absorption which only the truly selfish man who has set his heart upon gaining an object is capable of. Three or four times a week he dined at the Grange, his place, as was his right, beside Olivia, and all through the dinner she sat and listened when he spoke, and answered, when a reply was necessary, with the same far-away look in her eyes, the same pallor on her cheeks. One evening after dinner, when the squire and Bradstone had come into the drawing-room for their tea, which Miss Amelia was dispensing with nods and becks and wreathed smiles, that lady said, suddenly: “Oh, Edwin! what is this I hear about dear Bertie? Is it true--it can’t be true--that he has gone off suddenly to Australia to shoot lions?” Olivia was sitting on a low chair beside the open window, a book lying on her lap, page downward, her eyes fixed on the tall elms that lined the drive. For a second a warm flush rose to her face, but for a second only, and her gaze did not falter. “I shouldn’t think it could be true,” replied the squire, dryly, “seeing that it is impossible.” “There are no lions in Australia, unfortunately, Miss Vanley,” explained Bartley Bradstone, as he carried the cup of tea to Olivia. “No? Really? How interesting! You are always so well informed, Bartley. But is it true that he has gone off to some other dreadful place among wild beasts and savages?” she persisted--for to Miss Amelia the whole earth beyond, say, Italy and France, was a ravening wilderness. “He has gone out on a hunting and shooting expedition, yes,” said the squire, absently. “Now I do call that so stupid!” exclaimed Miss Amelia. “Why on earth couldn’t he be satisfied to remain at home? Why did he go, do you know? Some love disappointment, I suppose!” and she laid her head on one shoulder and sighed. “I don’t know,” replied the squire. “He did not come to bid us good-by; the vessel left suddenly, Lord Carfield says. I only heard of the boy’s departure from Mr. Faradeane----” Olivia was holding her teacup for some milk, which Bartley Bradstone had brought her, and it slipped suddenly from her fingers, spilling the tea over her pure white frock. Bartley Bradstone had his handkerchief out, and was on his knees at her side in a moment, but she drew back out of his reach. “It is of no consequence,” she said, calmly.