n brought up together. She understood
him, and in the midst of so much that was uncertain and bewildering
she seemed something genuine and solid, something to which a man could
cling. It may not have been a right spirit in which to approach this
question of marriage, but in the case of a young man like Morris,
who was driven forward by no passion, by no scheme even of personal
advancement, this substitution of reason for impulse and instinct was
perhaps natural.

"Very well, I will," he answered; "but if she is wise, she won't."

His father turned his head away and sighed softly, and that sigh seemed
to lift a ton's weight off his heart.

"I am glad to hear it," he answered simply, "the rest must settle
itself. By the way, if you are going up to the house, tell the cook that
I have changed my mind, we will have the soles fried with lemon; she
always makes a mess of them 'au maitre d'hotel.'"

CHAPTER V

A PROPOSAL AND A PROMISE

Although it consisted of but a dozen people, the dinner-party at the
Abbey that night was something of a function. To begin with, the old
refectory, with its stone columns and arches still standing as they
were in the pre-Reformation days, lit with cunningly-arranged and shaded
electric lights designed and set up by Morris, was an absolutely
ideal place in which to dine. Then, although the Monk family were
impoverished, they still retained the store of plate accumulated by past
generations. Much of this silver was old and very beautiful, and when
set out upon the great side-boards produced an affect well suited to
that chamber and its accessories. The company also was pleasant and
presentable. There were the local baronet and his wife; the two beauties
of the neighbourhood, Miss Jane Rose and Miss Eliza Layard, with their
respective belongings; the clergyman of the parish, a Mr. Tomley, who
was leaving the county for the north of England on account of his wife's
health; and a clever and rising young doctor from the county town.
These, with Mr. Porson and his daughter, made up the number who upon
this particular night with every intention of enjoying themselves, sat
down to that rather rare entertainment in Monksland, a dinner-party.

Colonel Monk had himself very carefully placed the guests. As a result,
Morris, to whose lot it had fallen to take in the wealthy Miss Layard,
a young lady of handsome but somewhat ill-tempered countenance, found
himself at the foot of the oblong table w