It may be noted, by the student of human nature, that neither of them had spoken of the woman for whom Derrick had been ready to sacrifice his good name, his life itself. Perfect love means perfect faith, and they were so sure of each other's love and faith, that it may be said neither of them gave the other woman a thought; and if they had done so, Celia would not have been jealous of the past, and Derrick would have regarded the boyish passion of which he had been so completely cured, as something nebulous and unimportant. At that moment, he was capable of thinking only of Celia; the past was like a dream, his heart was in the present and future; and his happiness was alloyed by one regret only--that he had concealed from Celia his real name and his connection with the Heytons. But, as he walked on air towards the village, he told himself that such concealment would not long be necessary, that he would tell her the next time they met. CHAPTER XXII As happy as Derrick, Celia hurried back to the Hall. So suddenly had come her happiness, so swiftly and unexpectedly had her life been suffused by joy, that she was dazzled and bewildered, as one is dazzled and bewildered by the bursting of the midday sunlight through a bank of clouds. It seemed almost impossible to realise that he was back in England, near at hand, that he loved her, that he had held her in his arms; but the warmth of his kisses still lingered on her lips and helped her unbelief. As she entered the hall, Heyton sauntered out of the smoking-room; the eternal cigarette was between his thick lips, his hands were thrust in his pockets; the smile, which Celia so much disliked, greeted her appearance, and his eyes roved over her with, the expression which always raised Celia's resentment. "Hallo!" he exclaimed, with an offensive familiarity. "Been for a walk? By Jove! you look ripping, Miss Grant! Been enjoying yourself, to judge by the look of you! I wish you would let me come with you; I might have enjoyed myself too. I'm pretty well bored stiff; there's nothing to do here, and the old place is dull as ditch-water; gives me the horrors. But I say, you'll be late for dinner. Hurry up and come and dine with us, won't you?" "Thank you, Lord Heyton," said Celia, "but I dine alone in my own little room." "What nonsense that is!" he said, impatiently. "Here, Miriam"--turning to his wife, as she came languidly down the stairs--"just tell Miss Grant that she's got to dine with us to-night; she'll keep us from going to sleep." "Won't you?" asked Miriam, listlessly. "I wish you would; I'm sure Lord Sutcombe would like you to." "Thank you very much," said Celia, as she passed on; "but I would rather dine alone. I've a great deal to do to-night and must not waste time over dinner."