“It is a great deal better never to drink it at all,” said the doctor; but Mr. Chester patted him on the back, and assured him that good port was a very good thing, and much better worth drinking than thin claret. “I believe it is that sour French stuff that takes all the spirit out of you young fellows,” he said. Winifred was compelled to be present during this interview. She heard her father give an account to Edward of the expected guests. “You shall come up and dine one evening,” he said. “You must make acquaintance with the Earl, who may be of use to you. I shouldn’t wonder if we had him often about here.” To Winifred, looking on, saying nothing, but vividly alive to her father’s offensive tone of patronage, and to the significance of this intimation, there was torture in every word. But Edward looked at her with an unclouded countenance, and laughingly assured her father that he had known the Earl all his life. “He is a very good fellow; but he is not very bright,” he said. “He may not be very bright, but he is a peer of the realm, and that is the sort of society that is going to be cultivated at Bedloe. I have had enough of the little people,” Mr. Chester replied. Edward Langton laughed, with the slightest, but only the very slightest, tinge of colouring in his face. “The little people must take the hint, and disappear,” he said. “But, of course, present company is always excepted. That has nothing to do with you. You’re professional; you’re indispensable.” Young Langton gave Winifred a look. It was swift as lightning, but it told her more than a volume could have done. The indignation and forbearance and pity that were in it made a whole drama in themselves. “I hope I shall prove myself worthy of the exception in my favour,” was all he said. “I have no doubt you will; you were always one that knew your own place,” said Mr. Chester. “Father!” cried Winnie, crimson with shame and indignation. “Hold your tongue!” he cried. “The doctor knows what I mean, and I know what he means; we want no interference from you.” It was the first trial of the new state of affairs. She had to shake hands with him in her father’s presence, with nothing but a look to express all the trouble in her mind. But Edward on his part was entirely calm, with a shade of additional colour, but no more. He played his part more thoroughly than she did--upon which, with the usual self-torture of women, a cold thought arose in her that perhaps it was not entirely an assumed part. From every side she had much to bear. CHAPTER X Miss Farrell did not add to her pupil’s trouble. When she heard the state of affairs, she gave up with noble magnanimity her intention of going away. “You must not ask me to meet any one--till the visitors come,” she said. “I shall remain to give you what help I can; but you know my rule. When I am treated with rudeness, I make no complaint, I take no offence, but I go away.”