"When one is in pleasant company," she remarks, with a rather hysterical laugh, "one forgets the flight of time." "Undoubtedly," replies Gerard, endeavouring to conceal his anger under an appearance of calmness, and unable to manage more than one word at a time. "If one has not taken a vow of perpetual silence, it is a great relief to have a little conversation with a person who is neither _deaf_ nor _dumb_," she says, emboldened by exasperation. "An immense relief, no doubt," he answers, in deep displeasure. "And yet, if you will allow me," he continues, unable to resist the temptation to lecture her--"who am so much older than you, and can have no interest in the matter but your own advantage--to give an opinion, I should recommend your choosing a fitter time of day for your meetings, even with so desirable and congenial a companion as Mr. Linley." "Beggars must not be choosers," she answers, sulkily. "You seem to forget how very small a portion of the day I have at my own disposal." He draws himself up to his full height, and a stern expression makes his lip thin. "I was right," he says internally; "it was no accident!" Then aloud: "I apologise, Miss Craven, for interfering in your affairs, in which, God knows, I have small concern. I only thought that, as you are so young, you might not be aware that _nocturnal_ walks with a man of Linley's character are not advantageous to any woman's reputation." "I know nothing about his character," retorts she, defiantly; "I daresay it is as good as other people's. All I know is, that he is very kind and civil to me, which is what nobody else is nowadays." Then, to avoid the disgrace of seeming to court his compassion by tears, she darts from his side, and rushes to that harbour of refuge--her great, bare sleeping-chamber. CHAPTER XXXVII. Time goes by. Since Joshua, God-bidden, commanded sun and moon to stand still, who has been able to stop it?