“Now, now—­you’re forgetting and talking nonsense, Raymond.  You really are forgetting.  A man’s idea of being ‘sporting’ does not mean telling stories to a trusting and loving girl, does it?  I don’t want anybody to judge you but yourself.  I am perfectly content to leave it to your own conscience.  And very sure I am that if you ask yourself the question, you’ll answer it as it should be answered.  So sure, indeed, that I have done a definite thing about it, which I will tell you in a moment.  For the rest you must find a house where you please and be married as soon as you can.  And when Daniel understands what a right and proper thing you’re doing, I think you’ll very soon find all will be satisfactory again in that quarter.”

“Thank you, I’m sure.  But don’t speak to him yet.  I won’t ask for favours nor let you, Aunt Jenny.  If he comes to me, well and good—­I certainly won’t go to him.  As to Sabina, we’ll clear out and get married in a day or two.”

“Not before a Registrar,” pleaded Miss Ironsyde.

“Before the Devil I should think,” he said, preparing to leave her.

She chid him and then mentioned certain preparations made for this particular evening.

“Don’t be cross any more, and let me see you value my good will and love, Ray, by doing what I’m going to ask you to do, now.  So sure was I that, when the little details were cleared up, you would feel with me, and welcome your liberty from constraint, and return to Sabina with the good news, that I asked her to meet you to-night—­this very night, my dear, so that you might go home with her and make her happy.  She had tea with me—­I made her come, and then she went to friends, and she will be in the Lovers’ Grove waiting for you at ten o’clock—­half an hour from now.”

His impulse was to protest, but he recognised the futility for so doing.  He felt baffled and cowed and weary.  He hated himself because, weakened by poverty, an old woman had been too much for him.  He clutched at a hope.  Perhaps by doing as his aunt desired and going through with this thing, he would find his peace of mind return and a consciousness that, after all, to keep his promise was the only thing which would renew his self-respect.  It might prove the line of least resistance to take this course.  He felt not sorry at the immediate prospect of meeting Sabina.  In his present mood that might be a good thing to happen.  Annoyance passed, and when he did take leave it was with more expressions of gratitude.

“I don’t know why you are so extraordinarily good to me,” he said.  “I certainly don’t deserve it.  But the least I can do is throw up the sponge and do as you will, and trust your judgment.  I don’t say I agree with you, but I’m going to do it; and if it’s a failure, I shan’t blame you, Aunt Jenny.”

“It won’t be a failure.  I’m as sure as I’m sure of anything that it will be a splendid success, Raymond.  Come again, very soon, and tell me what you decide about a house.  And remember one thing—­don’t fly away and take a house goodness knows where.  Always reckon with the possibility—­I think certainty—­that Daniel will soon be friendly, when he hears you’re going to be married.”