n his arm, looking up at him with a sort of
pitying pride. "_She_ must think of it, Theo--everybody must think of
it; ah yes, and even yourself, at the last. Every mortal, everybody that
is human,--oh, Theo, the most generous!--looks for something, something
in return."

The young man tried to speak, but his voice died away after he had said
"Mother!" To this he had no reply.

But though he could not answer the objection, he could put it aside;
and as a matter of course he had his way. At the beginning of a thing,
however clearly it may be apparent that embarrassment is involved, few
people are clear-sighted enough to perceive how great the embarrassment
may come to be. Lady Markland was not wiser than her kind. She spoke of
Theo's kindness in a rapture of gratitude, and ended always by saying
that, after all, that was nothing in comparison with the fact that
he had begun by saving the boy's life. "I owe my child to him," she
said,--"I owe him Geoff's life; and now it almost seems natural, when
he has done so much, that he should do anything that his kind heart
prompts." She would say this with tears in her eyes, with such an
enthusiasm of gratitude that everybody was touched who heard her. But
then, everybody did not hear Lady Markland's account of the matter; and
the common mass, the spectators who observe such domestic dramas with
always a lively desire to get as much amusement as possible out of them,
made remarks of a very different kind. The men thought that Warrender
was a fool, but that the widow was consoling herself; the ladies said
that it was sad to see a young man so infatuated, but that Lady Markland
could not live without an adviser; and there were some, even, who began
to lament "poor dear young Markland," as if he had been an injured
saint. The people who heard least of these universal comments were,
however, the persons most concerned: Lady Markland, because she saw few
people, and disarmed, as has been said, those whom she did see; and
Warrender, because he was not the sort of man, young though he was, whom
other men cared to approach with uncalled-for advice. There was but one
person, indeed, after his sister, who lifted up a faithful testimony to
Theo. Mrs. Wilberforce, as his parish clergyman's wife, felt that, if
the rector would not do it, it was her duty to speak. She took advantage
of the opportunity one evening after Christmas, when Warrender was dining
at the Rectory. "Are you _still_ going