had
succeeded in baffling the charge made against him, without saying
anything as to which his conscience need condemn him. So, at least,
he then told himself. The impression left by what he had said would
be that there had been some question of an engagement between him and
Lilian Dale, but that nothing at this moment was absolutely fixed.
But in the morning his conscience was not quite so clear. What would
Lily think and say if she knew it all? Could he dare to tell her, or
to tell any one the real state of his mind?

As he lay in bed, knowing that an hour remained to him before he need
encounter the perils of his tub, he felt that he hated Courcy Castle
and its inmates. Who was there, among them all, that was comparable
to Mrs Dale and her daughters? He detested both George and John.
He loathed the earl. As to the countess herself, he was perfectly
indifferent, regarding her as a woman whom it was well to know, but
as one only to be known as the mistress of Courcy Castle and a house
in London. As to the daughters, he had ridiculed them all from time
to time--even Alexandrina, whom he now professed to love. Perhaps
in some sort of way he had a weak fondness for her;--but it was a
fondness that had never touched his heart. He could measure the
whole thing at its worth,--Courcy Castle with its privileges, Lady
Dumbello, Lady Clandidlem, and the whole of it. He knew that he had
been happier on that lawn at Allington, and more contented with
himself, than ever he had been even under Lady Hartletop's splendid
roof in Shropshire. Lady Dumbello was satisfied with these things,
even in the inmost recesses of her soul; but he was not a male Lady
Dumbello. He knew that there was something better, and that that
something was within his reach.

But, nevertheless, the air of Courcy was too much for him. In arguing
the matter with himself he regarded himself as one infected with
a leprosy from which there could be no recovery, and who should,
therefore, make his whole life suitable to the circumstances of that
leprosy. It was of no use for him to tell himself that the Small
House at Allington was better than Courcy Castle. Satan knew that
heaven was better than hell; but he felt himself to be fitter for the
latter place. Crosbie ridiculed Lady Dumbello, even there among her
friends, with all the cutting words that his wit could find; but,
nevertheless, the privilege of staying in the same house with her was
dear to him. It was