ell children. The men of the party
and my sister Bella will be lodged at Sir Joseph's place, Brineweald
Park."

"It sounds engaging enough," said St. Maur.

"Oh, most!" sighed Mrs. Delarayne. "Oh, you can't think what a happy
mother I'd be if only I had no children!"

Both men laughed, and Mrs. Delarayne who, ever since her arrival, had
been casting unmistakable glances at St. Maur, at last succeeded in
silently conveying her meaning to him.

"Well, I'm afraid I must be going downstairs," he said, "I've letters to
write."

She extended a hand with alacrity. "Oh, it looks as if I were driving
you away," she said.

St. Maur protested feebly against this truthful interpretation of his
proposed retreat, and withdrew.

Lord Henry took a seat opposite to his visitor, who was obviously as shy
as a schoolgirl in his presence, and surveyed her covertly.

"Have you come to tell me that you have abandoned that absurd Inner
Light?" he demanded playfully.

"No, indeed; why should I?" she rejoined with affected indignation.

"It is unpardonable," he murmured.

"Why unpardonable?"

"Had you been a Protestant in the past, it would at least have been
comprehensible," he said, "because any kind of absurdity is possible
after one has been a Protestant. What after all are all these
ridiculous, new-fangled creeds but further schisms of Protestantism? But
seeing that you were once a Catholic, I repeat, it is unpardonable."

Mrs. Delarayne purred resentfully, as if to imply that it would require
something more than that line of persuasion to convince her of her
error.

"What do you do to induce me to abandon anything--however erroneous?"
she protested at last. "It isn't as if you were even remaining in the
country. You are going away. But I cannot bear to think of your going
away."

Lord Henry folded his hands and scrutinised her for a moment beneath
lowered brows. Her manner was unmistakable; she revealed as much of her
game as her dignity allowed. His heart softened towards her.

"Is it so much to you that I am going?" he demanded.

"Oh, no," she replied, mock cheerfully, "_le roi est mort, vive le
roi!_"

"Haven't you a number of friends?"

"Weighed in the scales, of course," she said, "they represent a
tremendous amount of friendship."

"Aren't your daughters an interest?"

"Too adorable, of course,--so adorable that I sometimes wish I'd never
been born."

The problem as it presented itself to Lord Henry was