misfortune. This lightened his spirit considerably. "So
there's an end of that," he emphasized, as the resolve took form to tell
Lady Charlotte flatly that his father was ruined, and that the son,
therefore, renounced his particular hope and aspiration.

"She will say, in the most matter-of-fact way in the world, 'Oh, very
well, that quite alters the case,'" said Wilfrid aloud, with the smallest
infusion of bitterness. Then he murmured, "Poor old governor!" and
wondered whether Emilia would come to this place according to his desire.
Love, that had lain crushed in him for the few recent days, sprang up and
gave him the thought, "She may be here now;" but, his eyes not being
satiated instantly with a sight of her, the possibility of such happiness
faded out.

"Blessed little woman!" he cried openly, ashamed to translate in tenderer
terms the soft fresh blossom of love that his fancy conjured forth at the
recollection of her. He pictured to himself hopefully, moreover, that she
would be shy when they met. A contradictory vision of her eyes lifted
hungry for his first words, or the pressure of his arm displeased him
slightly. It occurred to him that they would be characterized as a
singular couple. To combat this he drew around him all the mysteries of
sentiment that had issued from her voice and her eyes. She had made Earth
lovely to him and heaven human. She--what a grief for ever that her
origin should be what it was! For this reason:--lovers must live like
ordinary people outwardly; and say, ye Fates, how had she been educated
to direct a gentlemen's household?

"I can't exist on potatoes," he pronounced humorously.

But when his thoughts began to dwell with fitting seriousness on the
woman-of-the-world tone to be expected from Lady Charlotte, he folded the
mental image of Emilia closely to his breast, and framed a misty idea of
a little lighted cottage wherein she sat singing to herself while he was
campaigning. "Two or three fellows--Lumley and Fredericks--shall see
her," he thought. The rest of his brother officers were not even to know
that he was married.

His yacht was lying in a strip of moonlight near Sir Twickenham's
companion yawl. He gave one glance at it as at a history finished, and
sent up his name to Lady Charlotte.

"Ah! you haven't brought the good old dame with you?" she said, rising to
meet him. "I thought it better not to see her to-night."

He acquiesced, mentioning the lateness of the hour