“But why?” cried Lady Caerleon, aghast. “Why? Can you ask? Because of all your kindness and of all Lord Usk has done. She says to herself, ‘If I can repay and please them by sacrificing my own feelings, why, I’ll just do it!’” “This is terrible!” murmured Lady Caerleon. “I must speak to Félicia, and if that is really her state of mind, I will write to Usk at once.” “No, please!” entreated Maimie. “Didn’t you remark that I said ‘at present’? I would like to have her fall in love with him really. I thought it was real kind of you and Lord Caerleon to tell him to go and visit Niagara, and the South, and not be back until February, so’s he wouldn’t embarrass Félicia by arriving home so soon. Well, now, if he didn’t come back until the end of March, I guess it would be better yet. Won’t you have him go and see the Pacific slope, and the Yosemite in winter? By the middle of March Félicia will be changing her mourning, and I thought we might pay a visit to her best friend, Mrs van Zyl, at Nice. She’s set on having us, and it would be just lovely for Félicia. Then your son could come out and see us there, and Félicia would be able to compare him with other men. You do think he would stand a good chance then, don’t you?” This was a master-stroke. Even if Lady Caerleon could have brought herself to distrust Usk’s power of attraction, she could not confess the feeling, and she had no wish whatever to do so. Indeed, she was conscious of an unaccountable sensation of relief, which she attributed to the fact that Usk would at last be able to stand on his own merits, and take his chance in a fair field, unhampered by the dubious advantage of Mr Steinherz’s favour. She fell in with Maimie’s proposal at once. “I think it is an excellent idea,” she said. “All the gaieties will be over on the Riviera, and Félicia will enjoy a quiet restful time.” Maimie could have told her differently, but held her peace. “I will speak to my husband at once, and if he agrees with me, I will write to Usk to-day.”