As Arthur Vavasour had predicted and felt assured, it required few arguments, and a very little exertion of diplomatic talent, to convince “little Sophy’s” good-natured parent that there was nothing really _wrong_ either in the character or conduct of the “handsome young fellow” who had won his daughter’s heart. A short conversation with that “steady, sensible one of the brothers” (the thoughtful Horace), a little coaxing and petting on the part of his “darling girl,” and a positive assurance--it was “a case of honour, mind, Mr. Duberly”--more than once repeated--from Arthur, that he had sold the two-year-old (that wonderful Rough Diamond, of whom such great things were expected), to Colonel Norcott, of sporting celebrity, for an almost fabulous sum--were sufficient to set the unsuspicious, sanguine mind of “old Dub” at rest. Arthur Vavasour was received again with open arms at Fairleigh; the fatted calf, so to speak, was killed; and Sophy--caressing, tender Sophy--put on her best robe to do honour to the exculpated prodigal. CHAPTER XV. A STORM AT THE PADDOCKS. Arthur Vavasour, in all that he had said to his brother regarding the state of things at Updown Paddocks, had not willingly diverged a hair’s-breadth from the truth. It had caused him more vexation than surprise to learn that other voices besides the “still small” whisper of his own conscience were beginning to enlarge upon a course of conduct, the imprudence of which--to use no harsher term--had long been manifest to himself. Young as he was in years, Arthur had not, after a _jeunesse orageuse_, still to learn how soon and easily the fair fame of a woman is breathed upon and tarnished. In more ways than one is the breath of man poisonous to his fellows. Well did Arthur Vavasour know that while he--the heir-apparent to wealth and honour--he, the strong man, armed at all points for the battle of life--would come unscathed out of the tainted atmosphere of suspicion, she, the tender bird exposed to its baneful influence, would flutter her feeble wings, and fall killed _morally_ by the strong insidious poison. Of this melancholy truth Sophy Duberly’s affianced husband was as cognisant as the oldest sage that lives; and yet so selfish was he and so graceless--you perceive that there is nothing singular and abnormal in this young man’s character and conduct--that he could not bring himself to forego a pleasure, many of the infallible evils to result therefrom, he, in his rare moments of reflection, so plainly foresaw.