“And you have counselled her to take this fatal step?”

“No.  I advised her to stay.  But she is not so well used to domestic discomfort as I am; so she insisted on going.  We have got very nice rooms:  you may come and see us, if you like.”

“Is this a time to display your bitter and flippant humor?” said the Rev. George, indignantly.  “I think the spectacle of a wrecked home—­”

“Stuff!” interrupted Elinor, impatiently.  “What else can I say?  Uncle Reginald tells me I have corrupted Marian, and refuses to believe what I tell him.  And now you attack me, as if it were my fault that you have driven her away.  If you want to see her, she is within five minutes walk of you.  It is you who have wrecked her home, not she who has wrecked yours.”

“There is no use in speaking to Elinor, George,” said Mr. Lind, with the air of a man who had tried it.  “You had better go to Marian, and tell her what you mentioned this afternoon.  What has been the result of your visit?”

“He maintains that she knows everything,” said the Rev. George, with a dispirited glance at Elinor.  “I fear my visit has been worse than useless.”

“It is impossible that she should know.  He lies,” said Mr. Lind.  “Go and tell her the truth, George; and say that I desire her—­I order her—­to come back at once.  Say that I am waiting here for her.”

“But, Uncle Reginald,” began Elinor, in a softer tone than before, whilst the clergyman stood in doubt—­

“I think,” continued Mr. Lind, “that I must request you, Elinor, to occupy the rooms you have taken, until you return to your parents.  I regret that you have forced me to take this step; but I cannot continue to offer you facilities for exercising your influence over my daughter.  I will charge myself with all your expenses until you go to Wiltshire.”

Elinor looked at him as if she despaired of his reason.  Then, seeing her cousin slowly going to the door, she said: 

“You dont really mean to go on such a fool’s errand to Marian, George?”

“Elinor!” cried Mr. Lind.

“What else is it?” said Elinor.  “You asserted all your authority yourself this morning, and only made matters worse.  Yet you expect her to obey you at second hand.  Besides, she is bound in honor not to desert me now; and I will tell her so, too, if I see any sign of her letting herself be bullied.”

“I fear Marian will not pay much heed to what I say to her,” said the clergyman.

“If you are coming,” said Elinor, “you had better come in my cab.  Good-night, Uncle Reginald.”

“Stay,” said Mr. Lind, irresolutely.  “Elinor, I—­you—­Will you exercise your influence to induce Marian to return?  I think you owe me at least so much.”

“I will if you will withdraw your opposition to her marriage and let her do as she likes.  But if you can give her no better reason for returning than that she can be more conveniently persecuted here than at St. Mary’s Terrace, she will probably stay where she is, no matter how I may influence her.”