Captain Pratt, who was spending Christmas with his family, was the only person at Warpington Towers who read the papers. On this particular morning he came down to a late breakfast after the others had finished. His father, who was always down at eight, secretly admired his son's aristocratic habits, while he affected to laugh at them. "Shameful luxurious ways, these young men in the Guards. Fashionable society is rotten, sir; rotten to the core. Never get up till noon. My boy is as bad as any of them." Captain Pratt propped up the paper open before him while he sipped his coffee and glanced down the columns. His travelling eye reached Hugh's engagement. Captain Pratt rarely betrayed any feeling except ennui, but as he read, astonishment got the better of him. "By George!" he said, below his breath. The bit of omelette on its way to his mouth was slowly lowered again, and remained sticking on the end of his fork. _What did it mean?_ He recalled that scene in Hugh's rooms _only last week_. He had spoken of it to no one, for he intended to earn gratitude by his discretion. Of course, Scarlett was going to marry Lady Newhaven after a decent interval. She was a very beautiful woman, with a large jointure, and she was obviously in love with him. The question of her conduct was not considered. It never entered Captain Pratt's head, any more than that of a ten-year-old child. He was aware that all the women of the upper classes were immoral, except newly come-out girls. That was an established fact. The only difference between the individuals, which caused a separation as of the sheep from the goats, was whether they were compromised or not. Lady Newhaven was not, unless he chose to compromise her. No breath of scandal had ever touched her. But what was Scarlett about? Could they have quarrelled? What did it mean? _And what would she do now?_ "By George!" said Captain Pratt, again, and the agate eyes narrowed down to two slits. He sat a long time motionless, his untasted breakfast before him. His mind was working, weighing, applying now its scales, now its thermometer. * * * * * Rachel and Hugh were sitting together looking at a paragraph in the _Morning Post_. "Does Miss Gresley take any interest?" said Hugh. He was a little jealous of Hester. This illness, the cause of which had sincerely grieved him, had come at an inopportune moment. Hester was always taking Rachel from him. "Yes," said Rachel, "a little when she remembers. But she can only think of one thing." "That unhappy book." "Yes. I think the book was to Hester something of what you are to me. Her whole heart was wrapped up in it--and she has lost it. Hugh, whatever happens, you must not be lost now. It is too late. I could not bear it." "I can only be lost if you throw me away," said Hugh. There was a long silence. "Lady Newhaven will know to-day," said Rachel at last. "I tried to break it to her, but she did not believe me."