‘But we have seen so little of each other,’ he said at last; ’Miss Barton is a great beauty, I know, and nobody appreciates her beauty more than I, but I am not what you call in love with her.’

He deplored the feebleness of his words, and Mrs. Barton swooped upon him again.

’You do not love her because, as you say, you have seen very little of each other.  We are going down to Brookfield to-morrow.  We shall be very glad if you will come with us, and in the country you will have an opportunity of judging, of knowing her:  and she is such an affectionate little thing.’

Affrighted, the Marquis sought again for words, and he glanced at his torturer timidly, like the hare on the ever-nearing hounds.  Why did she pursue him, he asked, in this terrible way?  Had she gone mad?  What was he to say?  He had not the courage to answer no to her face.  Besides, if Violet would not have him, he might as well save the family estates.  If Violet refused him!  Then he didn’t care what became of him!  He sought, and he struggled for words, for words that would save him; and, in this hour of deep tribulation, words came and they saved him.

’I have a great deal of business to attend to to-morrow.  I am—­that is to say, my solicitor is, raising for me a large sum of money at four per cent.  On one large mortgage I am paying six per cent., therefore if I can get the money at four I shall be by some hundreds of pounds a richer man than I am at present.  At the end of the week this matter will be settled.  I will write to you and say when I shall be able to accept your invitation.’

Mrs. Barton would have preferred to have brought the matter at once to a conclusion, but in the hesitation that ensued, the Marquis, unable to withstand the strain set upon his feelings any longer, moved away from her.  And in the next room, to save himself from further persecution, he engaged at once in conversation with Alice.  Ten minutes after he said good-night.  To get out of the light into the dark, to feel the cool wind upon his cheek, oh! what a relief!  ’What could have persuaded that woman to speak to me as she did?  She must be mad.’  He walked on as if in a dream, the guineas she had promised him chinking dubiously through his brain.  Then stopping suddenly, overcome by nerve-excitement, he threw his arms in the air:  his features twitched convulsively.  The spasm passed; and, unconscious of all save the thoughts that held and tore him—­their palpitating prey—­he walked onwards. . . .  Black ruin on one side, and oh! what sweet white vision of happiness on the other!  Why was he thus tortured—­why was he thus torn on the rack of such a terrible discussion?  He stopped again, and his weak neck swayed plaintively.  Then, in the sullen calm that followed, the thought crossed his mind:  If he only knew. . . .  She might refuse him; if so, he did not care what became of him, and he would accept the other willingly.  But would she refuse him?  That he must know at once.  If she did refuse, he would, at all events, escape the black looks of his relations, and in the cowardice of the thought the weary spirit was healed, assuaged, as tired limbs might be in a bath of cool, clear water.  Why lose a moment?  It was only half-past ten—­an ‘outside’ would take him in less than two minutes to Fitzwilliam Place.  Yes, he would go.