I also wait for your answer to write a last line to Mr
Grey.

Your affectionate cousin,

ALICE VAVASOR.

George Vavasor when he had read the letter threw it carelessly from
him on to the breakfast table, and began to munch his toast. He threw
it carelessly from him, as though taking a certain pride in his
carelessness. "Very well," said he; "so be it. It is probably the
best thing that I could do, whatever the effect may be on her." Then
he took up his newspaper. But before the day was over he had made
many plans,--plans made almost unconsciously,--as to the benefit
which might accrue to him from the offer which she had made of her
money. And before night he had written that reply to her of which we
have heard the contents; and had written also to his sister Kate a
letter, of which Kate had kept the contents to herself.

CHAPTER XXXIII

Monkshade

When the first of the new year came round Lady Glencora was not
keeping her appointment at Lady Monk's house. She went to Gatherum
Castle, and let us hope that she enjoyed the magnificent Christmas
hospitality of the Duke; but when the time came for moving on to
Monkshade, she was indisposed, and Mr Palliser went thither alone.
Lady Glencora returned to Matching and remained at home, while her
husband was away, in company with the two Miss Pallisers.

When the tidings reached Monkshade that Lady Glencora was not to
be expected, Burgo Fitzgerald was already there, armed with such
pecuniary assistance as George Vavasor had been able to wrench out
of the hands of Mr Magruin. "Burgo," said his aunt, catching him one
morning near his bedroom door as he was about to go down-stairs in
hunting trim, "Burgo, your old flame, Lady Glencora, is not coming
here."

"Lady Glencora not coming!" said Burgo, betraying by his look and the
tone of his voice too clearly that this change in the purpose of a
married lady was to him of more importance than it should have been.
Such betrayal, however, to Lady Monk was not perhaps matter of much
moment.

"No; she is not coming. It can't be matter of any moment to you now."

"But, by heavens, it is," said he, putting his hand up to his
forehead, and leaning back against the wall of the passage as though
in despair. "It is matter of moment to me. I am the most unfortunate
devil that ever lived."

"Fie, Burgo, fie! You must not speak in that way of a married woman.
I begin to think it is better that she should not com