“Be quiet, Maude,” cried the countess-dowager, who, with all her own mistakes, had the sense to see that this sort of disparagement would only recoil upon them with interest, and who did not like the expression of Lord Hartledon’s face.  “You talk as if you had seen this Mrs. Ashton, Hartledon, since your return.”

“I should not be many hours at Hartledon without seeing Mrs. Ashton,” he answered.  “That’s where I was yesterday afternoon, ma’am, when you were so kindly anxious in your inquiries as to what had become of me.  I dare say I was absent an unconscionable time.  I never know how it passes, once I am with Anne.”

“We represent Love as blind, you know,” spoke Maude, in her desperation, unable to steady her pallid lips.  “You apparently do not see it, Lord Hartledon, but the young woman is the very essence of vulgarity.”

A pause followed the speech.  The countess-dowager turned towards her daughter in a blazing rage, and Val Elster quitted the room.

“Maude,” said Lord Hartledon, “I am sorry to tell you that you have put your foot in it.”

“Thank you,” panted Lady Maude, in her agitation.  “For giving my opinion of your Anne Ashton?”

“Precisely.  You have driven Val away in suppressed indignation.”

“Is Val of the Anne Ashton faction, that the truth should tell upon him, as well as upon you?” she returned, striving to maintain an assumption of sarcastic coldness.

“It is upon him that the words will tell.  Anne is engaged to him.”

“Is it true?  Is Val really engaged to her?” cried the countess-dowager in an ecstacy of relief, lifting her snub nose and painted cheeks, whilst a glad light came into Maude’s eyes again.  “I did hear he was engaged to some girl; but such reports of younger sons go for nothing.”

“Val was engaged to her before he went abroad.  Whether he will get her or not, is another thing.”

“To hear you talk, Hartledon, one might have supposed you cared for the girl yourself,” cried Lady Kirton; but her brow was smooth again, and her tone soft as honey.  “You should be more cautious.”

“Cautious!  Why so?  I love and respect Anne beyond any girl on earth.  But that Val hastened to make hay when the sun shone, whilst I fell asleep under the hedge, I don’t know but I might have proposed to her myself,” he added, with a laugh.  “However, it shall not be my fault if Val does not win her.”

The countess-dowager said no more.  She was worldly-wise in her way, and thought it best to leave well alone.  Sailing out of the room she left them alone together:  as she was fond of doing.

“Is it not rather—­rather beneath an Elster to marry an obscure country clergyman’s daughter?” began Lady Maude, a strange bitterness filling her heart.

“I tell you, Maude, the Ashtons are our equals in all ways.  He is a proud old doctor of divinity—­not old, however—­of irreproachable family and large private fortune.”