The threat was effectual; for Sir Harry had had passages-at arms enough with Mrs. Poynsett to make him dread her curt dry civility far more than either dun or bailiff, and he was at once roused to the determination to be explicit.

Frank met him, with crimson face and prepared speech.  “Good morning, Sir Harry!  I am afraid you may think that you have reason to complain of my not having spoken to you sooner; but I trusted to your previous knowledge of my feelings, and I was anxious to ascertain my position before laying it before you, though I don’t believe I should have succeeded unless my mind had been set at rest.”

Soft-hearted Sir Harry muttered, “I understand, but—­”

The pause at that ‘but’ was so long that Frank ventured on going on.  “I have not had an official communication, but I know privately that I have passed well and stand favourably for promotion, so that my income will go on increasing, and my mother will make over to me five thousand pounds, as she has done to Miles and Julius, so that it can be settled on Eleonora at once.”

“There, there, that’s enough!” said Sir Harry, coerced by his daughter’s glances; “there’s plenty of time before coming to all that!  You see, my dear boy, I always liked you, and had an immense respect for your—­your family; but, you see, Eleonora is young, and under the circumstances she ought not to engage herself.  She can’t any way marry before coming of age, and—­considering all things—­I should much prefer that this should go no further.”

“You ought both to be free!” said Lady Tyrrell.

“That I can never be!”

“Nor do you think that she can—­only it sounds presumptuous,” smiled Lady Tyrrell.  “Who can say?  But things have to be proved; and considering what young untried hearts are, it is safer and happier for both that there should be perfect freedom, so that no harm should be done, if you found that you had not known your own minds.”

“It will make no difference to me.”

“Oh yes, we know that!” laughed Sir Harry.  “Only suppose you changed your mind, we could not be angry with you.”

“You don’t think I could!”

“No, no,” said Lady Tyrrell; “we think no such thing.  Don’t you see, if we did not trust your honour, we could not leave this in suspense.  All we desire is that these matters may be left till it is possible to see our way, when the affairs of the estate are wound up; for we can’t tell what the poor child will have.  Come, don’t repeat that it will make no difference.  It may not to you; but it must to us, and to your mother.”

“My mother expects nothing!” said Frank, eagerly; but it was a false step.

Sir Harry bristled up, saying, “Sir, my daughter shall go into no family that—­that has not a proper appreciation of—­and expectations befitting her position.”

“Dear papa,” exclaimed Lady Tyrrell, “he means no such thing.  He is only crediting his mother with his own romantic ardour and disinterestedness.—­Hark! there actually is the gong.  Come and have some luncheon, and contain yourself, you foolish boy!”