live long
himself," said the Dean, speaking of the Marquis.

"I trust he may with all my heart," said Lord George.

"That's another question," replied the Dean. "I only say that he
doesn't look like it." Lord George went away early, and Jack De Baron
thought it prudent to retire at the same time. "So you're going
to-morrow, dear," said the Dean.

"Yes, papa. Is it not best?"

"Oh yes. Nothing could be worse than a prolonged separation. He means
to be honest and good."

"He is honest and good, papa."

"You have had your triumph."

"I did not want to triumph;--not at least over him."

"After what had occurred it was necessary that you should have your own
way in coming here. Otherwise he would have triumphed. He would have
taken you away, and you and I would have been separated. Of course you
are bound to obey him;--but there must be limits. He would have taken
you away as though in disgrace, and that I could not stand. There will
be an end of that now. God knows when I shall see you again, Mary."

"Why not, papa?"

"Because he hasn't got over his feeling against me. I don't think he
ever gets over any feeling. Having no home of his own why does he not
bring you here?"

"I don't think he likes the idea of being a burden to you."

"Exactly. He has not cordiality enough to feel that when two men are in
a boat together, as he and I are because of you, all that feeling
should go to the wind. He ought not to be more ashamed to sit at my
table and drink of my cup than you are. If it were all well between us
and he had the property, should I scruple to go and stay at Manor
Cross."

"You would still have your own house to go back to."

"So will he,--after a while. But it can't be altered, dear, and God
forbid that I should set you against him. He is not a rake nor a
spendthrift, nor will he run after other women." Mary thought of Mrs.
Houghton, but she held her tongue. "He is not a bad man and I think he
loves you."

"I am sure he does."

"But I can't help feeling sad at parting with you. I suppose I shall at
any rate be able to see you up in town next season." The Dean as he
said this was almost weeping.

Mary, when she was alone in her room, of course thought much of Captain
De Baron and his story. It was a pity,--a thousand pities,--that it
should be so. It was to be regretted,--much regretted,--that he had
been induced to tell his story. She was angry with herself because she
had been indiscreet, and