“Others have done so much before me, sir, and have not made the less good men,” spoke Val, in his desperation.

Dr. Ashton could not help admiring the man, as he stood there in his physical beauty.  In spite of his inward anger, his condemnation, his disappointment—­and they were all very great—­the good looks of Percival Elster struck him forcibly with a sort of annoyance:  why should these men be so outwardly fair, so inwardly frail?  Those good looks had told upon his daughter’s heart; and they all loved her, and could not bear to cause her pain.  Tall, supple, graceful, strong, towering nearly a head above the doctor, he stood, his pleasing features full of the best sort of attraction, his violet eyes rather wider open than usual, the waves of his silken hair smooth and bright.  “If he were only half as fair in conduct as in looks!” muttered the grieved divine.

But those violet eyes, usually beaming with kindness, suddenly changed their present expression of depreciation to one of rage.  Dr. Ashton gave a pretty accurate description of how the crisis had been brought to his knowledge—­that Lord Hartledon had come to the Rectory, with his mistaken assailant, to be identified; and Percival Elster’s anger was turned against his brother.  Never in all his life had he been in so great a passion; and having to suppress its signs in the presence of the Rector only made the fuel burn more fiercely.  To ruin him with the doctor by going there with the news!  Anywhere else—­anywhere but the Rectory!

Hedges, the butler, interrupted the conference.  Dinner was waiting.  Lord Hartledon looked at Val as the two entered the room, and was rather surprised at the furious gaze of reproach that was cast back on him.

Miss Ashton was not there.  No, of course not!  It needed not Val’s glance around to be assured of that.  Of course they were to be separated from that hour; the fiat was already gone forth.  And Mr. Val Elster felt so savage that he could have struck his brother.  He heard Dr. Ashton’s reply to an inquiry—­that Mrs. Ashton was feeling unusually poorly, and Anne remained at home with her—­but he looked upon it as an evasion.  Not a word did he speak during dinner:  not a word, save what was forced from him by common courtesy, spoke he after the ladies had left the room; he only drank a great deal of wine.

A very unusual circumstance for Val Elster.  With all his weak resolution, his yielding nature, drinking was a fault he was scarcely ever seduced into.  Not above two or three times in his life could he remember to have exceeded the bounds of strict, temperate sobriety.  The fact was, he was in wrath with himself:  all his past follies were pressing upon him with bitter condemnation.  He was just in that frame of mind when an object to vent our fury upon becomes a sort of necessity; and Mr. Elster’s was vented on his brother.

He was waiting at boiling-point for the opportunity to “have it out” with him:  and it soon came.  As the gentlemen left the dining-room—­and in these present days they do not, as a rule, sit long, especially when the host is a young man—­Percival Elster touched his brother to detain him, and shut the door on the heels of the rest.