ecuted so strenuously his marriage.

He trusted with all his heart that he would never hurt Rachel, he
intended always to be very, very kind to her; it was indeed a thousand
pities that the present quality of his attitude to her must, like all
attitudes, eventually change.

But he was always--he was sure of this--going to be good to her and give
her everything that the mistress of Seddon Court should have.

At the same time, vaguely, he wished that the old Duchess had had
nothing to do with this; sometimes he wondered whether the side in him
that found pleasure in her was really natural to him.

Whenever he thought of her, she, in some way, confused his judgment and
made life difficult.

She was doing that now....

II

When he came down to breakfast he found that he was the last. He sat
next to Nita Raseley and was conscious, after a little time, that she
was behaving with a certain reserve. He had known her in the kind of way
that he knew many people in his own set in London, pleasantly,
indifferently, without curiosity. She had, however, attracted him
sometimes by the impression that she gave him that she was too young to
know many men, but, however long she lived, would never find anyone as
splendid as he: she had certainly never been reserved before. Finally he
realized that she expected to hear of his engagement to Rachel
Beaminster at any moment. "Well, so she will," he thought, smiling to
himself. Meanwhile he avoided Rachel quite deliberately.

He was now self-conscious about her and did not wish to be with her
until he could ask her to marry him. No more uncertainty was possible.
He felt, not frightened, but excited, just as he would feel were he
about to ride a dangerous horse for the first time.

He seized, with relief, upon the proposal of church; he wanted the
morning to pass; his prayer was that she would not walk to church with
him, because he had now nothing to say to her except the one thing. When
he heard that she was staying behind and walking with Nita Raseley he
was surprised at his own sense of release.

Lady Adela was kind to him this morning in a sort of motherly way and
apparently seized on his going to church as an omen of his future
married happiness.

"They're all waiting to hear," he said to himself.

They were to walk across the park to the little village church, and when
they set out he was conscious that Lord John, like a large and amiable
bird, was hovering about him: fi