republicanism generally, and the Duke would explain that theory of monarchy as it prevails in England, which but very few Americans had been made to understand.  All this Miss Boncassen watched with pleasure.  She was still of opinion that it would not become her to force her way into a family which would endeavour to repudiate her.  She would not become this young man’s wife if all connected with the young man were resolved to reject the contact.  But if she could conquer them,—­then,—­then she thought that she could put her little hand into that young man’s grasp with a happy heart.

It was in this frame of mind that she laid herself out not unsuccessfully to win the esteem of Lady Mary Palliser.  ’I do not know whether you approve it,’ said Lady Cantrip to the Duke; ’but Mary has become very intimate with our new American friend.’  At this time Lady Cantrip had become very nervous,—­so as almost to wish that Lady Mary’s difficulties might be unravelled elsewhere than at Custins.

‘They seem to be sensible people,’ said the Duke.  ’I don’t know when I have met a man with higher ideals on politics than Mr Boncassen.’

‘His daughter is popular with everybody.’

‘A nice ladylike girl,’ said the Duke, ’and appears to have been well educated.’

It was now near the end of October, and the weather was peculiarly fine.  Perhaps in our climate, October would of all months be the most delightful if something of its charms were not detracted from by the feeling that with it depart the last relics of delight of summer.  The leaves are still there with their gorgeous colouring, but they are going.  The last rose still lingers on the bush, but it is the last.  The woodland walks are still pleasant to the feet, but caution is heard on every side by the coming winter.

The park at Custins, which was spacious, had many woodland walks attached to it, from which, through vistas of the timber, distant glimpses of the sea were caught.  Within half a mile of the house the woods were reached, and within a mile the open sea was in sight,—­and yet the wanderers might walk for miles without going over the same ground.  Here, without other companions, Lady Mary and Miss Boncassen found themselves one afternoon, and here the latter told her story to her lover’s sister.  ’I long to tell you something,’ she said.

‘Is it a secret?’ asked Lady Mary.

’Well; yes it is,—­if you will keep it so.  I would rather you should keep it a secret.  But I will tell you.’  Then she stood still looking into the other’s face.  ’I wonder how you will take it.’

‘What can it be?’

‘Your brother has asked me to be his wife.’

‘Silverbridge!’

‘Yes;—­Lord Silverbridge.  You are astonished.’

Lady Mary was much astonished,—­so much astonished that words escaped from her, which she regretted afterwards.  ’I thought there was someone else.’

‘Who else?’