“There,” he said to himself, “that will make an end of the affair, and I will get young Heigham back and they can be married.  George can never take what I mean to offer; if he should, the Egyptian will be spoiled indeed, and the game will be worth the candle.  Not that I have any responsibility about it, however; I shall put no pressure on Angela, she must choose for herself.”  And Philip went to bed, quite feeling as though he had done a virtuous action.

George came punctually enough on the following evening, which was that of the day of Lady Bellamy’s conversation with Angela, a conversation which had so upset the latter that she had already gone to her room, not knowing anything of her cousin’s proposed visit.

The night was one of those dreadfully oppressive ones that sometimes visit us in the course of an English summer.  The day had been hot and sultry, and with the fall of the evening the little breeze that stirred in the thunder-laden air had died away, leaving the temperature at much the same point that is to be expected in a tropical valley, and rendering the heat of the house almost unbearable.

“How do you do, George?” said Philip.  “Hot, isn’t it?”

“Yes, there will be a tempest soon.”

“Not before midnight, I think.  Shall we go and walk down by the lake, it will be cooler there, and we shall be quite undisturbed?  Walls have ears sometimes, you know.”

“Very well; but where is Angela?”

“I met her on the stairs just now, and she said that she was going to bed—­got a headache, I believe.  Shall we start?”

So soon as they were well away from the house, Philip broke the ice.

“Some months back, I had a conversation with Lady Bellamy on the subject of a proposal that you made to me through her for Angela’s hand.  It is about that I wish to speak to you now.  First, I must ask if you still wish to go on with the business?”

“Certainly, I wish it more than ever.”

“Well, as I intimated to Lady Bellamy, I do not at all approve of your suit.  Angela is already, subject to my consent, very suitably engaged to your late ward, a young fellow whom, whatever you may think about him, I like very much; and I can assure you that it will require the very strongest inducements to make me even allow such a thing.  In any case, I will have nothing to do with influencing Angela; she is a perfectly free agent.”

“Which means, I suppose, that you intend to screw down the price?”

“In wanting to marry Angela,” went on Philip, “you must remember that you fly high.  She is a very lovely woman, and, what is more, will some day or other be exceedingly well off, whilst you—­you must excuse me for being candid, but this is a mere matter of business, and I am only talking of you in the light of a possible son-in-law—­you are a middle-aged man, not prepossessing in appearance, broken in health, and, however well you may have kept up your reputation in these parts, as you and I well know, without a single shred of character left; altogether not a man to who a father would marry his daughter of his own free will, or one with whom a young girl is likely to find happiness.”