“If Maude had loved me,” Francis argued, brooding moodily upon his wrongs, “my money need have brought me no misery; my ignorance would have beguiled me into no danger. Her voice would have regulated my life; her counsel would have prompted every action. Her smallest wish would have been my law. And it would have been very hard if the companionship of a lady had not in time transformed me into a gentleman. But _what_ are the people with whom I have herded since my marriage--the acquaintances whom Harcourt Lowther has chosen for me? What! pshaw! why do I stop to think of all this? She never loved me. I should have tried to win her love if _he_ had left me to do so. I might have failed even then as miserably as I have failed now.” He groaned aloud as he thought this, and startled Miss Grunderson, who was sitting at a respectful distance from him folding and unfolding her parasol, and wondering why she had got into this _galère_, and how she was to get out of it; and registering a mental vow that she would never again be tempted by her recollection of her duty to her neighbour to depart from the manners and customs of polite society. But to her relief Francis looked up presently, and addressed her. “I thank you heartily for having spoken so frankly to me,” he said; “it is only right that I should be acquainted with the common talk about the man whose hand I have clasped in friendship almost every day for the last twelve months. But I hope you will believe that, whatever Mr. Lowther may or may not be, my wife is good and pure, and worthy of the warmest affection you can feel for her. Your warmth of feeling has touched me deeply, Miss Grunderson. I have been living in so false an atmosphere lately, that I must be dull indeed if I were not affected by your friendly candour. If--if anything should happen to separate Maude and me, I should be very glad to think she had such a friend as you. And--if ever you saw her trusting, as I have trusted, in the truth and honour of Harcourt Lowther, you would stand between her and that dangerous adviser, that false friend--would you not, Miss Grunderson?” “I would,” answered Rosa, valiantly; “I should speak my mind to her and to Mr. Lowther into the bargain, as candidly as I have spoken it to you to-night.” “I believe you would,” said Francis. “And now, my dear, God bless you, and good night!” He held out both his hands and clasped Rosa’s pudgy little paws in a brief grasp, and then strode past her on his way towards the door. “You’re not going out to-night, are you, Mr. Tredethlyn?” she asked anxiously; “it is so _very_ late.” Poor little Rosa was rather alarmed by that resolute stride towards the door, which might only be the first step in some ghastly vengeance to be taken upon Harcourt Lowther by the stalwart Cornishman.