your defence."

He stood at the window in silence, his lips compressed.

"I looked so foolish in the eyes of Dr. Ashton! The Sunday evening after
I came down here I had a sort of half-fainting-fit, coming home from
church. He overtook me, and was very kind, and gave me his arm. I said
a word to him; I could not help it; mamma had worried me on so; and I
learned that no such action had ever been thought of. You had no right
to subject me to the chance of such mortification. Why did you do so?"

Lord Hartledon came from the window and sat down near his wife, his elbow
on the table. All he could do now was to make the best of it, and explain
as near to the truth as he could.

"Maude, you must not expect full confidence on this subject, for I cannot
give it you. When I found I had reason to believe that some--some legal
proceedings were about to be instituted against me, just at the first
intimation of the trouble, I thought it must emanate from Dr. Ashton.
You took up the same idea yourself, and I did not contradict it, simply
because I could not tell you the real truth--"

"Yes," she interrupted. "It was the night that stranger called at our
house, when you and Mr. Carr were closeted with him so long."

He could not deny it; but he had been thankful that she should forget the
stranger and his visit. Maude waited.

"Then it was an action, but not brought by the Ashtons?" she resumed,
finding he did not speak. "Mamma remarked that you were just the one to
propose to half-a-dozen girls."

"It was not an action at all of that description; and I never proposed to
any girl except Miss Ashton," he returned, nettled at the remark.

"Is it over?"

"Not quite;" and there was some hesitation in his tone. "Carr is settling
it for me. I trust, Maude, you will never hear of it again--that it will
never trouble you."

She sat looking at him with her wistful eyes.

"Won't you tell me its nature?"

"I cannot tell you, Maude, believe me. I am as candid with you as it is
possible to be; but there are some things best--best not spoken of.
Maude," he repeated, rising impulsively and taking both her hands in his,
"do you wish to earn my love--my everlasting gratitude? Then you may do
it by nevermore alluding to this."

It was a mistaken request; an altogether unwise emotion. Better that he
had remained at the window, and drawled out a nonchalant denial. But he
was apt to be as earnestly genuine on the surface as he was in reali