Some little time elapsed before he came back to the house.  He had discovered Natalie—­alone.  Not a sign of Launce had rewarded his search.  For the hundredth time he had offended Natalie.  For the hundredth time he was compelled to appeal to the indulgence of her father and her aunt.  “It won’t happen again,” he said, sullenly penitent.  “You will find me quite another man when I have got you all at my house in the country.  Mind!” he burst out, with a furtive look, which expressed his inveterate distrust of Natalie and of every one about her.  “Mind! it’s settled that you all come to me in Somersetshire, on Monday next.”  Sir Joseph answered rather dryly that it was settled.  Turlington turned to leave the room—­and suddenly came back.  “It’s understood,” he went on, addressing Miss Lavinia, “that the seventh of next month is the date fixed for the marriage.  Not a day later!” Miss Lavinia replied, rather dryly on her side, “Of course, Richard; not a day later.”  He muttered, “All right” and hurriedly left them.

Half an hour afterward Natalie came in, looking a little confused.

“Has he gone?” she asked, whispering to her aunt.

Relieved on this point, she made straight for the library—­a room which she rarely entered at that or any other period of the day.  Miss Lavinia followed her, curious to know what it meant.  Natalie hurried to the window, and waved her handkerchief—­evidently making a signal to some one outside.  Miss Lavinia instantly joined her, and took her sharply by the hand.

“Is it possible, Natalie?” she asked.  “Has Launcelot Linzie really been here, unknown to your father or to me?”

“Where is the harm if he has?” answered Natalie, with a sudden outbreak of temper.  “Am I never to see my cousin again, because Mr. Turlington happens to be jealous of him?”

She suddenly turned away her head.  The rich color flowed over her face and neck.  Miss Lavinia, proceeding sternly with the administration of the necessary reproof, was silenced midway by a new change in her niece’s variable temper.  Natalie burst into tears.  Satisfied with this appearance of sincere contrition, the old lady consented to overlook what had happened; and, for this occasion only, to keep her niece’s secret.  They would all be in Somersetshire, she remarked, before any more breaches of discipline could be committed.  Richard had fortunately made no discoveries; and the matter might safely be trusted, all things considered, to rest where it was.

Miss Lavinia might possibly have taken a less hopeful view of the circumstances, if she had known that one of the men-servants at Muswell Hill was in Richard Turlington’s pay, and that this servant had seen Launce leave the grounds by the back-garden gate.

NINTH SCENE.

The Drawing-Room.

“Amelia!”

“Say something.”

“Ask him to sit down.”