It was Lady Germaine at last, as she had been the means of setting the whole affair in motion, who brought it to a climax. He had not confided in her in so many words--for, indeed, he was too much elevated and carried away by this growing passion to bring it to the common eye; but he had so far betrayed himself on a certain occasion when reference had been made to Lady Jane, that his hostess and friend burst through all pretences and herself dashed into the subject. “Reginald Winton,” she said almost solemnly, “do you know what is before you? How are you going to ask the Duke of Billingsgate, that high and mighty personage, to give you his daughter? I wonder you are not ready to sink into the earth with terror.” “The Duke of Billingsgate?” cried the young man, with a gasp of dismay. “To be sure; but I suppose you never thought of that,” she said. He grew paler and paler as he looked at her. “Do you know,” he said, “it never occurred to me till this moment. But what do I care for the Duke of Billingsgate? I think of nothing, since you will have it, but _her_, Lady Germaine.” “Innocent! do you think I have not known that for the last two months? When you want to hide anything, you should not put flags up at all your windows.” “Have I put flags up?” He looked at her with colours flying and an illumination in his eyes. He was pleased to think that he had exposed himself and proclaimed his lady’s charms in this way, like a knight-errant. “I hope I have not done anything to annoy her,” he added, in a panic. “Lady Germaine, you will keep my secret till I know my fate.” “Oh, as for keeping your secret--but from whom are you to know your fate, if I may ask?” Lady Germaine said. Reginald blushed like a girl all over his face--or rather he reddened like a man, duskily, half angrily, while his eyes grew more like illuminations than ever. He drew a long breath, making a distinct pause, as a devout Catholic would do to cross himself, before he replied, “From whom? from _her_; who else?” with a glow of excitement and hope. Lady Germaine shook her head. “Oh, you innocent!” she cried; “oh, you baby! If there is any other word that expresses utter simplicity and foolishness, let me call you that. _Her!_ that is all very well, that is easy enough. But what are you to say to her father?--oh, you simpleton!--her father,--that is the question.” “I presume, Lady Germaine,” said the lover, assuming an air of superior knowledge and lofty sentiment--“I presume that if I am so fortunate as to persuade _her_ to listen to me--which, heaven knows, I am doubtful enough of!--that in that case her father----” “Would be easy to manage, you think?” she said, with scornful toleration of his folly.