“You don’t love her?” whispered Anne.

“Love her!  I never loved but you, my best and dearest.  I never shall, or can, love another.”

He spoke in all good faith; fully believing what he said; and it was indeed true.  And Anne?  As though a prevision had been upon her of the future, she remained passively in his arms sobbing hysterically, and suffering his kisses; not drawing away from him in maiden modesty, as was her wont.  She had never clung to him like this.

“You will write to me often?” he whispered.

“Yes.  Won’t you come to Cannes?”

“I don’t know that it will be possible, unless you remain beyond the spring.  And should that be the case, Anne, I shall pray your father and mother that the marriage may take place there.  I am going up to town next month to take my seat in the House.  It will be a busy session; and I want to see if I can’t become a useful public man.  I think it would please the doctor to find I’ve some stuff in me; and a man must have a laudable object in life.”

“I would rather die,” murmured Anne, passionately in her turn, “than hear again what Mrs. Graves said.”

“My darling, we cannot stop people’s gossip.  Believe in me; I will not fail you.  Oh, Anne, I wish you were already my wife!” he aspirated fervently, his perplexities again presenting themselves to his mind.

“The time will come,” she whispered.

Lord Hartledon walked home full of loyal thought, saying to himself what an utter idiot he had been in regard to Maude, and determined to lose no time in getting clear of the entanglement.  He sought an opportunity of speaking to her that afternoon; he really did; but could not find it.  The dowager had taken her out to pay a visit.

Mr. Carr was as good as his word, and got down in time for dinner.  One glance at Lord Hartledon’s face told him what he half expected to see—­that the word of emancipation had not yet been spoken.

“Don’t blame me, Carr.  I shall speak to-night before I sleep, on my word of honour.  Things have come to a crisis now; and if I wished to hold back I could not.  I would say what a fool I have been not to speak before; only you know I’m one already.”

Thomas Carr laughed.

“Mrs. Ashton has heard some tattle about Maude, and spoke to me this afternoon.  Of course I could only deny it, my face feeling on fire with its sense of dishonour, for I don’t think I ever told a deliberate lie in my life; and—­and, in short, I should like my marriage with Anne to take place as soon as possible.”

“Well, there’s only one course to pursue, as I told you when I was down before.  Tell Lady Maude the candid truth, and take shame and blame to yourself, as you deserve.  Her having known of the engagement to Miss Ashton renders your task the easier.”

Very restless was Lord Hartledon until the moment came.  He knew the best time to speak to Maude would be immediately after dinner, whilst the countess-dowager took her usual nap.  There was no hesitation now; and he speedily followed them upstairs, leaving his friend at the dinner-table.