"I am sorry you are both against me," she said, looking from one to the other. "I am sorry you help Oliver to think unkindly of me. But if I must stand alone, I must. I cannot give way." Ferrier raised his eyebrows with a little perplexed look. Thrusting his hands into his pockets, he went to stand by the fire, staring down into it a minute or two, as though the flames might bring counsel. "Miss Mallory is still ignorant, Oliver--is that so?" he said, at last. "Entirely. But it is not possible she should continue to be so. She has begun to make inquiries, and I agree with Sir James it is right she should be told--" "I propose to go down to Beechcote to-morrow," put in Sir James. "Have you any idea what view Miss Mallory would be likely to take of the matter--as affecting her engagement?" "She could have no view that was not unselfish and noble--like herself," said Marsham, hotly. "What has that to do with it?" [Illustration: "'DEAR LADY,' HE SAID, GENTLY, 'I THINK YOU OUGHT TO GIVE WAY!'"] "She might release you," was Ferrier's slow reply. Marsham flushed. "And you think I should be such a hound as to let her!" Sir James only just prevented himself from throwing a triumphant look at his hostess. "You will, of course, inform her of your mother's opposition?" said Ferrier. "It will be impossible to keep it from her." "Poor child!" murmured Ferrier--"poor child!" Then he looked at Lady Lucy. "May I take Oliver into the inner room a little while?" he asked, pointing to a farther drawing-room. "By all means. I shall be here when you return." Sir James had a few hurried words in private with Marsham, and then took his leave. As he and Lady Lucy shook hands, he gave her a penetrating look. "Try and think of the girl!" he said, in a low voice; "_the girl_--in her first youth." "I think of my son," was the unmoved reply. "Good-bye, Sir James. I feel that we are adversaries, and I wish it were not so." Sir James walked away, possessed by a savage desire to do some damage to the cathedral in pith, as he passed it on his way to the door; or to shake his fist in the faces of Wilberforce and Lord Shaftesbury, whose portraits adorned the staircase. The type of Catholic woman which he most admired rose in his mind; compassionate, tender, infinitely soft and loving--like the saints; save where "the faith" was concerned--like the saints, again. This Protestant rigidity and self-sufficiency were the deuce! But he would go down to Beechcote, and he and Oliver between them would see that child through. * * * * * Meanwhile, Ferrier and Marsham were in anxious conclave. Ferrier counselled delay. "Let the thing sleep a little. Don't announce the engagement. You and Miss Mallory will, of course, understand each other. You will correspond. But don't hurry it. So much consideration, at least, is due to your mother's strong feeling." Marsham assented, but despondently.