It was not easy to silence Miss Garth, when she was speaking under the influence of a strong conviction; but this reply closed her lips.  She resumed her work, and looked, and thought, unutterable things.

Mrs. Vanstone’s behavior was certainly remarkable under the circumstances.  Here, on one side, was a girl—­with great personal attractions, with rare pecuniary prospects, with a social position which might have justified the best gentleman in the neighborhood in making her an offer of marriage—­perversely casting herself away on a penniless idle young fellow, who had failed at his first start in life, and who even if he succeeded in his second attempt, must be for years to come in no position to marry a young lady of fortune on equal terms.  And there, on the other side, was that girl’s mother, by no means dismayed at the prospect of a connection which was, to say the least of it, far from desirable; by no means certain, judging her by her own words and looks, that a marriage between Mr. Vanstone’s daughter and Mr. Clare’s son might not prove to be as satisfactory a result of the intimacy between the two young people as the parents on both sides could possibly wish for!

It was perplexing in the extreme.  It was almost as unintelligible as that past mystery—­that forgotten mystery now—­of the journey to London.

In the evening, Frank made his appearance, and announced that his father had mercilessly sentenced him to leave Combe-Raven by the parliamentary train the next morning.  He mentioned this circumstance with an air of sentimental resignation; and listened to Mr. Vanstone’s boisterous rejoicings over his new prospects with a mild and mute surprise.  His gentle melancholy of look and manner greatly assisted his personal advantages.  In his own effeminate way he was more handsome than ever that evening.  His soft brown eyes wandered about the room with a melting tenderness; his hair was beautifully brushed; his delicate hands hung over the arms of his chair with a languid grace.  He looked like a convalescent Apollo.  Never, on any previous occasion, had he practiced more successfully the social art which he habitually cultivated—­the art of casting himself on society in the character of a well-bred Incubus, and conferring an obligation on his fellow-creatures by allowing them to sit under him.  It was undeniably a dull evening.  All the talking fell to the share of Mr. Vanstone and Miss Garth.  Mrs. Vanstone was habitually silent; Norah kept herself obstinately in the background; Magdalen was quiet and undemonstrative beyond all former precedent.  From first to last, she kept rigidly on her guard.  The few meaning looks that she cast on Frank flashed at him like lightning, and were gone before any one else could see them.  Even when she brought him his tea; and when, in doing so, her self-control gave way under the temptation which no woman can resist—­the temptation of touching the man she loves—­even then, she held the saucer so dexterously that it screened