But Rylton would not hear of it.  He had, as he had already told Mr. Bolton, a small yearly income that he might with honesty call his own.  It was specially small on account of his mother’s jointure having to be paid out of the estate also.  Of course he could not curtail that, nor would he desire to do so.  And, seeing how deeply dipped the estates were, he could, of course, only take as much as he could reasonably desire.  With his future wife’s help, however, he felt the old property could be brought back in time to its former splendid position—­to a position that he would be proud to see her the mistress of, etc.

There is always a good deal of humbug talked on these occasions.  Maurice, perhaps, talked very considerably less than most people; and, indeed, when he said he would gladly see her mistress of all he ought to have, he spoke something very near the truth.  He was grateful to her beyond all words, and he had sworn to himself to be loyal to her.

Lady Rylton was distinctly annoyed when she heard of the arrangements come to.  She would have liked Maurice to have had entire control of his wife’s fortune.  And, oddly enough, Tita was annoyed too.

“Oh, I wish you had broken away entirely from Uncle George,” she had said to Maurice, when he had come down on one of his flying visits to The Place between his engagement and his marriage.

“But why?  He seemed to me quite a nice old gentleman.”

She could not explain why, however, but only clung to her belief that they would be better without Uncle George.  She hated him.  That seemed to be the sum total of her objection.

Maurice had left The Place the morning after his engagement.  He had had time to have an interview with his little fiancée, who seemed surprised that he wanted it in private, and who, to his great relief, insisted on making very cool adieux to him in the public hall, where everyone was passing to and fro, and where Mr. Gower was making a nuisance of himself by playing ball against the library door.  Naturally it was impossible to have an affecting parting there.

Marian had not come down to breakfast.  And Sir Maurice was conscious of a passionate sense of relief.  She had heard.  He knew—­he felt that!  His mother would not spare her; and even if she had not cared as he had cared, still, unless she was the greatest fiend on earth, she must have had some small love for him—­how terribly small he knows!  He assures himself of that all day long in the living torture he is enduring, as if by it he can reconcile himself to his marriage with this child, whose money is so hateful, and whose presence is such a bore.

There are a few things, however, always to be thankful for.  Tita, in the frankest fashion in all their interviews, has told him that she doesn’t care a fig about him, that she was marrying him only to escape from Uncle George!