fore you are up."

He still held her hand; but it had not been in his for half a minute,
and she had thought nothing of that, nor did she draw it away even
now suddenly. "No," said she, "Glencora was very wrong there,--doing
an injury without meaning it to both of us. There can be no possible
reason why you should call me otherwise than is customary."

"Can there never be a reason?"

"No, Mr Palliser. Good night;--and if I am not to see you to-morrow
morning, good-bye."

"You will certainly not see me to-morrow morning."

"Good-bye. Had it not been for this folly of Glencora's, our
acquaintance would have been very pleasant."

"To me it has been very pleasant. Good night."

Then she left him, and went up alone to her own room. Whether or no
other guests were still left in the drawing-room she did not know;
but she had seen that Mr Palliser took his wife up-stairs, and
therefore she considered herself right in presuming that the party
was broken up for the night. Mr Palliser,--Plantagenet Palliser,
according to all rules of courtesy should have said a word to her as
he went; but, as I have said before, Alice was disposed to overlook
his want of civility on this occasion. So she went up alone to her
room, and was very glad to find herself able to get close to a good
fire. She was, in truth, very cold--cold to her bones, in spite of
what Lady Glencora had said on behalf of the moonlight. They two had
been standing all but still during the greater part of the time that
they had been talking, and Alice, as she sat herself down, found that
her feet were numbed with the damp that had penetrated through her
boots. Certainly Mr Palliser had reason to be angry that his wife
should have remained out in the night air so long,--though perhaps
not with Alice.

And then she began to think of what had been told her; and to try to
think of what, under such circumstances, it behoved her to do. She
could not doubt that Lady Glencora had intended to declare that, if
opportunity offered itself, she would leave her husband, and put
herself under the protection of Mr Fitzgerald; and Alice, moreover,
had become painfully conscious that the poor deluded unreasoning
creature had taught herself to think that she might excuse herself
for this sin to her own conscience by the fact that she was
childless, and that she might thus give to the man who had married
her an opportunity of seeking another wife who might give him an
heir. Alice we