not latterly felt extremely filial;
but he could not bear the idea of a division in the love of which he
had ever been the idol and sole object. And such a man, too! so good!
so generous! If it was jealousy that roused the young man's heart to his
father, the better part of love was also revived in it. He thought of
old days: of his father's forbearance, his own wilfulness. He looked
on himself, and what he had done, with the eyes of such a man. He
determined to do all he could to regain his favour.

Mrs. Doria learnt from Adrian in the evening that her nephew intended
waiting in town another week.

"That will do," smiled Mrs. Doria. "He will be more patient at the end
of a week."

"Oh! does patience beget patience?" said Adrian. "I was not aware it was
a propagating virtue. I surrender him to you. I shan't be able to hold
him in after one week more. I assure you, my dear aunt, he's already"...

"Thank you, no explanation," Mrs. Doria begged.

When Richard saw her nest, he was informed that she had received a most
satisfactory letter from Mrs. John Todhunter: quite a glowing account of
John's behaviour: but on Richard's desiring to know the words Clare
had written, Mrs. Doria objected to be explicit, and shot into worldly
gossip.

"Clare seldom glows," said Richard.

"No, I mean for her," his aunt remarked. "Don't look like your father,
child."

"I should like to have seen the letter," said Richard.

Mrs. Doria did not propose to show it.

CHAPTER XXXVI

A Lady driving a pair of greys was noticed by Richard in his rides and
walks. She passed him rather obviously and often. She was very handsome;
a bold beauty, with shining black hair, red lips, and eyes not afraid
of men. The hair was brushed from her temples, leaving one of those fine
reckless outlines which the action of driving, and the pace, admirably
set off. She took his fancy. He liked the air of petulant gallantry
about her, and mused upon the picture, rare to him, of a glorious
dashing woman. He thought, too, she looked at him. He was not at the
time inclined to be vain, or he might have been sure she did. Once it
struck him she nodded slightly.

He asked Adrian one day in the park--who she was.

"I don't know her," said Adrian. "Probably a superior priestess of
Paphos."

"Now that's my idea of Bellona," Richard exclaimed. "Not the fury they
paint, but a spirited, dauntless, eager-looking creature like that."

"Bellona?" returned the