hat's another thing," said Lady Blandish.

Their talk was then of the dulness of neighbouring county people, about
whom, it seemed, there was little or no scandal afloat: of the lady's
loss of the season in town, which she professed not to regret, though
she complained of her general weariness: of whether Mr. Morton of Poer
Hall would propose to Mrs. Doria, and of the probable despair of the
hapless curate of Lobourne; and other gossip, partly in French.

They rounded the lake, and got upon the road through the park to
Lobourne. The moon had risen. The atmosphere was warm and pleasant.

"Quite a lover's night," said Lady Blandish.

"And I, who have none to love pity me!" The wise youth attempted a sigh.

"And never will have," said Lady Blandish, curtly. "You buy your loves."

Adrian protested. However, he did not plead verbally against the
impeachment, though the lady's decisive insight astonished him. He began
to respect her, relishing her exquisite contempt, and he reflected that
widows could be terrible creatures.

He had hoped to be a little sentimental with Lady Blandish, knowing her
romantic. This mixture of the harshest common sense and an air of "I
know you men," with romance and refined temperament, subdued the wise
youth more than a positive accusation supported by witnesses would have
done. He looked at the lady. Her face was raised to the moon. She knew
nothing--she had simply spoken from the fulness of her human knowledge,
and had forgotten her words. Perhaps, after all, her admiration, or
whatever feeling it was, for the baronet, was sincere, and really the
longing for a virtuous man. Perhaps she had tried the opposite set
pretty much. Adrian shrugged. Whenever the wise youth encountered
a mental difficulty he instinctively lifted his shoulders to equal
altitudes, to show that he had no doubt there was a balance in the
case--plenty to be said on both sides, which was the same to him as a
definite solution.

At their tryst in the wood, abutting on Raynham Park, wrapped in
themselves, piped to by tireless Love, Richard and Lucy sat, toying with
eternal moments. How they seem as if they would never end! What mere
sparks they are when they have died out! And how in the distance of time
they revive, and extend, and glow, and make us think them full the half,
and the best of the fire, of our lives!

With the onward flow of intimacy, the two happy lovers ceased to be so
shy of common themes, and their s