“Do you think my manners would pass?  I learnt to dance and bow before I was twelve years old from the most experienced master in Europe; and I used to mix with all the counts, dukes, and queens in my father’s opera company, not to mention the fashionable people I have read about in novels.”

“You are jesting, Mr. Conolly.  I do not believe that your manners give you the least real concern.”

“And you think that I may aspire in time—­if I am successful in public—­to the hand of a lady?”

“Surely you know as much of the world as I. Why should you not marry a lady, if you wish to?”

“I am afraid class prejudice would be too strong for me, after all.”

“I dont think so.  What hour is it now, Mr. Conolly?”

“It wants ten minutes of seven.”

“Oh!” cried Marian, rising.  “Miss McQuinch is probably wondering whether I am drowned or lost.  I must get back to the Hall as fast as I can.  They have returned from Bushy Copse before this; and I am sure they are asking about me.”

Conolly rose silently and walked with her as far as the path from the cottage to the laboratory.

“This is my way, Miss Lind,” said he.  “I am going to the laboratory.  Will you be so kind as to give my respects to Miss McQuinch.  I shall not see her again, as I must return to town by the last train to-night.”

“And are you not coming back—­not at all, I mean?”

“Not at all.”

“Oh!” said Marian slowly.

“Good bye, Miss Lind.”

He was about to raise his hat as usual; but Marian, with a smile, put out her hand.  He took it for the first time; looked at her for a moment gravely; and left her.

Lest they should surprise one another in the act, neither of them looked back at the other as they went their several ways.

BOOK II

CHAPTER VII

In the spring, eighteen months after his daughter’s visit to Carbury Towers, Mr. Reginald Harrington Lind called at a house in Manchester Square and found Mrs. Douglas at home.  Sholto’s mother was a widow lady older than Mr. Lind, with a rather glassy eye and shaky hand, who would have looked weak and shiftless in an almshouse, but who, with plenty of money, unlimited domestic service, and unhesitating deference from attendants who were all trained artists in their occupation, made a fair shew of being a dignified and interesting old lady.  When he was seated, her first action was to take a new photograph from a little table at her side, and hand it to him without a word, awaiting his recognition of it with a shew of natural pride and affection which was amateurish in comparison to the more polished and skilful comedy with which her visitor took it and pretended to admire it.

“Capital.  Capital,” said Mr. Lind.  “He must give us one.”

“You dont think that the beard has spoiled him, do you?” said Mrs. Douglas.