yourself! Good-by, Charles. I am afraid I
shall be very busy for the next few weeks."

Fermor came home, straight to his home, his
cheeks tingling. "This is what I have brought
myself to," he said, with utter bitterness and
ruefulness. He was dreadfully mortified and
wounded. He beat the rails impatiently with
his cane as he passed by. Coming to his house,
he went sadly into the drawing-room, where was
young Mrs. Fermor waiting.

"Dinner is spoiled, Charles," she said, ringing
the bell. "Three-quarters of an hour!"

He flung himself on a sofa. "What does it
matter?" he said. "I am late for everything
now. It is a wonder you waited for me."

She looked at him astonished.

"Yes," he went on, "why should any one
take the trouble? I am not worth it. Everybody
can treat me as they please, it would seem.
Good gracious!" and he started up, "it seems
like a conspiracy to mortify and humiliate me."

The young wife went up close to him, full of
sympathy. "Dear Charles," she said, "tell me
about your troubles. Indeed I feel for you.
What is it? Who has hurt you?"

"Such treatment!" he went on, angrily. "Mrs.
Craven, Sir Hopkins, and the rest of them! As
if there was some mark on me. What do you
suppose my crime is? Throwing myself away,
they call it; making a low marriage."

Deeply hurt, and with deep reproach, she
said: "O, Charles, you cannot mean this?"

"I don't mean it," he said; "but they all tell
me so. The world is right, it seems. Else, why
do they mortify and insult me at every turn, as
if I had done a crime? It's not your fault, of
course. I should, of course, be a monster to say so.
But no man has paid so heavily as I have for any
act of his life. There's Sir Hopkins, too, has
hinted plainly he means to punish me, because he
doesn't approve. The women in the Park will
hardly deign to speak to me. Is not this
pleasant? Delightful sauce to flavour one's dinner
with!"

At this moment entered the stiff grim father,
who, in this new shape of life, rarely seen, and
emerging for meals from his secluded quarter on
the stairs, was as grim, and rigid, and metallic
as of old. The old casting was sharp and hard
as ever.

He stood in the doorway a moment. Then,
without a word, turned and went down. The
others followed. It was a silent and solemn
meal. A blank had fallen on them all. Fermor
cut his food savagely and defiantly. At the end—
Mr. Carlay never sat over wine, but was absorbed
silently into his quarter—if Fermor was out, he
came and read to his daughter. Now, at the end
of dinner, when she was gone up to a dismal
meditation by the fire, and Fermor was thinking
of a lonely night walk just as dismal, the cast-
iron figure said: "Would you wait a moment,
Fermor? I want to speak to you."

A little surprised, the other came back.

"Take your seat again," said Mr. Carlay. "I
wish to say a few words to you seriously. It
will save a good many more serious, later."

Fermor did not relish this magisterial tone,
and perhaps on another occasion would have
said something about this "solemn preface."

"Mary is not looking well," Mr. Carlay went
on. "She is growing unhappy. I have
remarked it for some time." He paused a second or
two. "Are you as kind to her as you should
be?"

Fermor started. "I should hope so," he
answered. "Why should you ask me such a
question?"

"As you ask me," said the other, "I will
tell you. Because I begin to think you are
not. People think because I live out of the
world—as it were out of the house almost—that
I see nothing, and know nothing. Never was
there a greater mistake, if that be the impression
that directs any particular course of conduct. I
see everything, and know everything."

Often and often had Fermor laid it down
at mess, and at other places where he, as
it were, sat judicially, that anything like lectureship
from a person in the relation that Mr.
Carlay was to him, would be fatal. From the
outset he had settled that such encroachment
was to be resisted at once. He thought of this
now.

"Whatever there is to see and know, you are
welcome to," he said, calmly. "Perhaps, if you
did mix a little more in human concerns, you
would have truer views of things. I hope I
behave as well as most husbands do. I know
my duty, whatever complaints may have been
made to you," he added, with some meaning.

Mr. Carlay was growing more grim, and dense,
and hard every moment. His lips scarcely
seemed to move as the words passed from them.
"Look here," he said, "Fermor. I do not want
to interfere with you; hitherto I have not done
so. If you only hint it, you shall see even less of
me than you have done. Those rooms up-stairs
make up my world, and—my daughter. But I
tell you this now—and I tell it to you solemnly
—if I find the slightest change towards HER"—
here he stood up and seemed to grow in gaunt
height into a stark prophet—"if she is not
treated gently, tenderly, softly, even childishly
—if she is not humoured and petted, and made
the queen and darling of this house, as she
has always been of mine, I declare there will
come a change over me that you cannot dream
of. You don't know me. You don't know
what I can be, or what I have been. But I
warn you now in time. Touch her, and you
touch me. I am willing to be tranquil for this
life, and go out of life peacefully, after all the
storms I have passed through. But on another
sign of what I have seen this evening, and I
become what I would not become. You will rue
the day. You are no match for me. Come
now," he said, suddenly changing his tone,
"you have sense and tact, and will take this
in good part. But, believe me, nothing was