“I hope you remember,” said she, gravely, “that you might be a saviour to him.”

“I do not believe in girls being saviours to men.  It is the man who should be the saviour to the girl.  If I marry at all, I have the right to expect that protection shall be given to me,—­not that I shall have to give it.”

“Violet, you are determined to misrepresent what I mean.”

Lord Chiltern was walking about the room, and did not sit down when they entered.  The ordinary greetings took place, and Miss Effingham made some remark about the frost.  “But it seems to be going,” she said, “and I suppose that you will soon be at work again?”

“Yes;—­I shall hunt to-morrow,” said Lord Chiltern.

“And the next day, and the next, and the next,” said Violet, “till about the middle of April;—­and then your period of misery will begin!”

“Exactly,” said Lord Chiltern.  “I have nothing but hunting that I can call an occupation.”

“Why don’t you make one?” said his sister.

“I mean to do so, if it be possible.  Laura, would you mind leaving me and Miss Effingham alone for a few minutes?”

Lady Laura got up, and so also did Miss Effingham.  “For what purpose?” said the latter.  “It cannot be for any good purpose.”

“At any rate I wish it, and I will not harm you.”  Lady Laura was now going, but paused before she reached the door.  “Laura, will you do as I ask you?” said the brother.  Then Lady Laura went.

“It was not that I feared you would harm me, Lord Chiltern,” said Violet.

“No;—­I know it was not.  But what I say is always said awkwardly.  An hour ago I did not know that you were in town, but when I was told the news I came at once.  My father told me.”

“I am so glad that you see your father.”

“I have not spoken to him for months before, and probably may not speak to him for months again.  But there is one point, Violet, on which he and I agree.”

“I hope there will soon be many.”

“It is possible,—­but I fear not probable.  Look here, Violet,”—­and he looked at her with all his eyes, till it seemed to her that he was all eyes, so great was the intensity of his gaze;—­“I should scorn myself were I to permit myself to come before you with a plea for your favour founded on my father’s whims.  My father is unreasonable, and has been very unjust to me.  He has ever believed evil of me, and has believed it often when all the world knew that he was wrong.  I care little for being reconciled to a father who has been so cruel to me.”

“He loves me dearly, and is my friend.  I would rather that you should not speak against him to me.”

“You will understand, at least, that I am asking nothing from you because he wishes it.  Laura probably has told you that you may make things straight by becoming my wife.”

“She has,—­certainly, Lord Chiltern.”